Sometimes I feel as though there are two me’s, one coating directly on top of the other: the superficial me, who nods when he’s supposed to nod and says what he’s supposed to say, and some other, deeper part, the part that worries and dreams… Most of the time they move along in sync and I hardly notice the split, but sometimes it feels as though I’m two whole different people and I could rip apart at any second.
A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself.
“ I miss the old sadness. I miss the cries of breaking a leg. I miss the feeling of not getting what you want, the feeling of fighting with a friend, with a sibling. I miss that sadness because this sadness, this grief, makes everything else feel small. I don’t know those feelings anymore because the feeling of the loss of someone you love…it’s unlike any sadness I’ve felt before. I don’t want this sadness, this sorrow. I miss the old sadness. ” (( E.M. ))
It almost feels like a joke to play out the part when you are not the starring role in someone else's heart. You know I'd rather walk alone than play a supporting role if I can't get the starring role.