UNSPOKEN REALITIES

AS DEEP AS UNREACHABLE

In my loneliest moments, I find myself immersed in a sea of thoughts about you. The depth of your pain, the complexity of your emotions, and the emptiness that seems to envelop everything intertwine with my own experiences, creating a silent dialogue between your words and my life. I imagine what it would be like to sit with you, to explore the labyrinths of life, and to debate the feelings you wrote about in your books. Often, I close my eyes and envision a perfect afternoon where we share coffee and dive into passionate discussions about life and despair.

Your words pierce through me with a painful clarity.

"My desire to live is like a flame slowly extinguishing, and there is nothing that can revive it." This phrase resonates with me with an intensity that both amazes and terrifies me. On those days when I feel trapped in an endless routine, where life itself seems to turn into an unending series of gray days, your words become a cruel mirror reflecting my own hopelessness. I wonder if you also experienced those days when the desire to live feels like a heavy, almost unbearable burden.

The longing to understand your perspective in person, to hear your voice and observe the nuance of your gestures, sometimes fills me with a profound melancholy that aches. The acceptance that this meeting can never be real weighs heavily on my heart with relentless sadness. I can't help but feel that, in some way, our souls are separated by an unfathomable chasm, a space that neither time nor words can bridge. The reality is harsh... your words are the only thing that connects me to you, and that connection will always be a shadow of what I yearn for.

Every time I open one of your books, I feel a deep lament for not being able to share those moments with you. I imagine you sitting in a café, with soft light filtering through the windows, discussing life, love, and despair. In those moments, conversations about the complexity of the human condition and the desolation of existence become a dance between understanding and pain. The image of you discussing Van Gogh's paintings, trying to understand how art reflects the internal storm we all carry within us, is a comfort amidst the sadness.

Your book reveals a heart-wrenching perspective on the human condition.

"There is a kind of hopelessness that cannot be described with words; it is a feeling that consumes everything and leaves only emptiness," becomes a truth that I feel deep within my being. Sometimes, amidst the loneliness, that hopelessness overtakes me, and I find myself searching for answers in the pages of your books, as if within them I might find a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

"I do not dare to live, I do not dare to die; I am trapped between two worlds that I do not understand." Your words encapsulate my own internal struggle, that feeling of being caught between the desire to find purpose and the sensation of being lost in a world that seems to lack meaning. I wonder if you felt the same desperation, that same sense of being suspended between life and death, between being and non-being.

Although I will never be able to have a real conversation with you, your words remain a guide in my moments of doubt. I find solace in knowing that, despite the distance and separation, your voice lives on in every page, offering comfort amidst the storm. At the end of the day, when I close the book and return to reality, I realize that the longing to meet you is a bittersweet sadness, a companionship that is as deep as it is unreachable, but that continues to offer me solace in my solitude. Through your words, I find a way to understand my own suffering and my search for meaning. In reading, I discover a reflection of my own struggle, a confirmation that I am not alone in my pain. Your work becomes a refuge for my soul, a space where I can explore my own emotions through your experience.

Thus, as I lose myself in your books, I find a strange form of connection, a bond that transcends time and space.