The mind of a broken human.

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A way of writing what's stuck in my mind without the fear of upsetting someone.

Submitted: June 10, 2017

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Submitted: June 09, 2017

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Lolita. A book written by the great Nabokov. A book that when fallen into the wrong hands, can create the most atrocious monsters.

lo.lee.ta.

The eye-opening book I needed.

When high school started, I hadn't been able to put my hands on said book yet. My only reference was Born to Die, by Lana. An album full of songs that make no full sense for those who have not made the terrible decision of going full "nymphet" on someone twice their age. A huge mistake, truly.

"I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play." Might be the biggest lie of them all. We play, it's all we do. The feeling of having power over a miserable old man is indescribably fun. 

For a while.

"Light of his life, Fire of his loins."  Not really. One eventually realised that as much as it seems you control them, in the end you're just a child under an immoral pedophile's spell. Even through a virtual world, they've managed to make you feel guilty about enjoying power. 

So many lyrics, so many meanings, and yet only two songs mattered: Lolita and Carmen.

 

It seems people with sociopathic tendencies are like magnets, since as soon as I met the classroom's Carmen I was able to trust him to confess I was the Lolita there.

A pair of sad guys trying to find their way through life.

 

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Alex was 17, borderline 18 when we met. 

We instantly trusted each other. His past was safe with me and those who've listened to Carmen can easily guess how things were.

He was the one who let me read their copy of Lolita. 

I haven't been able to bring myself to finish it; takes a lot of psychological effort.

Time has passed and Carmen seems to be getting his life together. He smiles more. 

I like this Carmen. Carmen is now just Alex. I aspire to smile as much as Alex.

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Art is... tiring.

People say artist can see everything better and find the beauty in shit and, yeah, sure, that's nice,but if anything

I have only learnt that the prettier art is the more fucked up the world looks and the more time you spent letting people know they're their own version of art itself the more you put yourself down because no one sees art the way you do so in the end you're a blank canvas in everyone's eyes after you turn them into the Athena Parthenos.

Lilith was treated like a queen. The first months, I gave her enormous lists of reasons I loved her.

 

The day arrived in which I dared asking: "Why do you love me?"

The only thing I got was a miserable text.

"Idk, I just do."

 

I never gave her a list again. It would've been blank.

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A quick tip: never be the perfect boyfriend. Because you will expect the same thing from your significant other, and that is how you get disappointed and fall out of love.

 

I learnt to never expect anything from anyone. 


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