always marriage, never ambition
i lost a friend to the illusion of marriage.
the most bizarre thing was not the change brought by the introduction of a man.
(near blasphemy, i must say)
change is bound to happen, inevitable with the encounter of novelty. novelty in itself is bizarre.
yes, and yet,
the most bizarre thing was in the ordinary.
the unexpected willingness to abandon the self in the face of imagined union and the imagined happiness tied to it, tying oneself to this illusion, illustrating it through meek, childish displays of marital love - whatever that is.
To behold it as a previous lover, carer, friend
now forever demoted to mere observer - the man promoted as partner - himself not having known the person more than 30 days.
how disposable it is to be friend, how much more indelible to be enemy!
perhaps it is my contentment in platonic company and family that immunises me from disparagements regarding my refusal of marriage, of love, of romance.
i do not hate men, i love all three of them - four if we're counting my brother, two if they are abstract, and one if I might never meet them.
my friend suspects envy; it is not moral to entertain such lest it fortifies the claim with dignity
And if I were of higher status, known to
the right circle of people, known to power, known to wealth, perhaps I would be celebrated as a writer
and perhaps I would remain friend, closer than a partner.
or rather that she be inspired not to succumb to the same temptations as have generations of women before us, to the mirage of happy matrimony and happier reality.
but to say it does not exist does not help you; therefore, it does not help me.
and if my groaning cannot convince, the world cannot help you and neither can we.
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