The core of passion

All these emotions in me... They are like a giant fireball. They could burn and destroy everything like wild fire if unrestrained. They really could... The only way I can ever let them out is by channeling them into stories... They can never be freed in real life because my conclusion is that people do not have what it takes to cope with pure, unrestrained passion in reality. Only I. I am one of very few, if not the only one, who was born with true passion burning within.

If only you people had any idea what true passion is about... You would realise that everything that you feel is nothing but a breeze compared to it.

Passion, intensity... I never thought these words would one day come to define me. And there is no use for them in this world! Is it any wonder that I should find it so bland and cold? All that there is... is the written world. I always knew, but of course I have to waste my time defying what can never be defeated: the rigid rules of reality.

Passion rips you apart from inside, it really does. One moment you’re flying, the next you come crashing down in flames. It tears your heart and every single neighboring organ in shreds, twisting, burning, until you’re left breathless on the floor, crying like a very small child.


All these dreams we have... an invisible monster always steals them from us. That much I’ve come to realise for myself. Everything you will ever come to dream about will never become reality, because the invisible monster will have stolen those dreams from you. And when you fall for the illusion that your dreams materialized... wait for it to morph into your worst nightmare.

I used to dream about so many things... not one of them came to be. Now I don’t even dare dream anymore. I prefer dwelling on the worst, even if it makes me depressed, but I know that by doing just that I manage to trick the invisible monster into leaving me alone.

Sometimes it doesn’t work, and when the monster remembers that I exist, he springs a surprise on me. He does the worst possible thing out of spite and sheer hatred of me: he makes me believe for a split moment that one of my old dreams could come to be... and then, just as I slip and fall for it, he destroys everything ruthlessly.

And then I’m left reeling, bleeding from within. And you can’t stop inner bleeding with an ordinary plaster. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? You just have to keep living with that constant bleeding.

And always you will see me smile, and you will see me laugh, so that you will never even know how much of a prisoner I am. You will never see how much blood I have lost in my life, and how much I have cried over what ought to have been, but never was.

People then tell you that it is time to move on, and let Time heal the inner wounds... But I already know that even the oldest of scars can keep hurting just the same.

So what can you tell me that I don’t already know? Nothing. We’re all in the same boat.
Maybe you can relate, but so what? It will never make the inner bleeding stop. Nothing can.