The Philosophist

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
One situation completely misunderstood.

Submitted: May 28, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 28, 2011



If death was predictable, we would all try avoiding it. If life was always enjoyable, we would never look forward to the end of it. If love was simple, we would all understand it, but where the fun in that? We all live for the mystery, the pleaser and pain love, life and death offer.
I never planned to be this; I never intended to do this. I always thought that a great philosopher was a great man. Turns out a great philosopher is an even greater loner. All my life was spent in books, experiencing the characters joy, pain, lust and loss. Yet I never once experienced any of my own, and then I met her. Spunky, energetic and so very adolescent.
She enjoyed the simplest of things in life, the morning breeze, the evening sun, the musty smell of summer’s day down to my crabby mood every morning. She was brilliance in its purest form! Then she died! Correction, I killed her…she was leaving me; I couldn’t brave the thought of her lips against another woman’s or the thought of her in another’s bed. I wanted her; I wanted her all to myself, so I killed her, and kept her body.
Let me explain, if I kept her alive she would have sprung for the door the first chance she got. I wasn’t going to jeopardize that! So I made her stay, I didn’t care if she was alive or dead, I only cared that she stayed with me. Everyone thinks its necrophilia, I think its love! She was the only one who saw beyond my lunacy, my fixation with fictional characters in books, the only one who loved me and my cantankerous trait, and she was going to leave!
I remember the night so well, we disagreed over nothing, but I guess if it was nothing enough she wouldn’t have started packing her bags. I panicked, took my razor and slit her neck and watched her cry as she slowly bleed to death. Wounded by every moment of it, oblivious of what I had done, until she looked at me and mournfully whispered form her deathly pale lips....’I would stayed if you asked me’. With that she wilted like a leaf, and I followed her three days later.
If death was predictable, she would have avoided it. If life was always enjoyable, she would have still been breathing. If love was simple, she would have understood me and I her. Sadly life, death and love are only as simple, as enjoyable and as predictable as the person living it, feeling it, and those no longer part of it!
  A great philosopher is only as great as the philosophy they live by…a mediocre one is doomed by the very same philosophy they create!

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