The pathetic lover is a story about me. A boy-- a boy that wants to fall in love, but can't. He lays flat on the grass looking at the moonlight gleefully imagining what love is like. A boy that daydreams about girls he has crushes about, but can't talk to them. He peeks a glance at them furtively, carefully, he doesn't want to be caught-- he glances too tepidly because he knows he doesn't deserve to look at her. He's too pathetic. Yet every glance was a smorgasbord of delights.
You imagine every detail of this love, and it just happens. There is nothing seductive or tit for tat about it. When you're in love, there's no fooling each other. No fooling yourself. It's immediate, it's warm, it's cozy. The connection is what matters most about it. The immediate feeling of bonding that goes beyond lust-- it's just love, pure, simple love. Love that is the only ecstasy worth experiencing.
And everything about it is simple. Just the simple presence matters. Just to hold a girl's hand in the rain. It could be any girl. It's the worst sin imaginable yet the feeling is so hypnotic. To feel needed. The cosmic connection of touch. To have the delusion that she's truly loyal only to you. It keeps on a trail but the pain heaps on. To feel every second in a pathetic life is more pathetic because it's a second where there's no holding of that damn lover girl's hand. A hand that was all along, always alone, pathetically alone. Seconds heaping into hours heaping into eons. The loneliness is now galactic and bewildering in it's infinite emptiness. From the consequence of seconds, only an incel can feel what immortality feels like-- the Sisyphean boulder we heave, being enslaved to our loneliness.
The fantasy is shameful. And as much as I can scream and hate how much I hate love. That lover is me: the most pathetic lover of all. To only want love yet to have never been loved a second in my life.
You imagine every detail of this love, and it just happens. There is nothing seductive or tit for tat about it. When you're in love, there's no fooling each other. No fooling yourself. It's immediate, it's warm, it's cozy. The connection is what matters most about it. The immediate feeling of bonding that goes beyond lust-- it's just love, pure, simple love. Love that is the only ecstasy worth experiencing.
And everything about it is simple. Just the simple presence matters. Just to hold a girl's hand in the rain. It could be any girl. It's the worst sin imaginable yet the feeling is so hypnotic. To feel needed. The cosmic connection of touch. To have the delusion that she's truly loyal only to you. It keeps on a trail but the pain heaps on. To feel every second in a pathetic life is more pathetic because it's a second where there's no holding of that damn lover girl's hand. A hand that was all along, always alone, pathetically alone. Seconds heaping into hours heaping into eons. The loneliness is now galactic and bewildering in it's infinite emptiness. From the consequence of seconds, only an incel can feel what immortality feels like-- the Sisyphean boulder we heave, being enslaved to our loneliness.
The fantasy is shameful. And as much as I can scream and hate how much I hate love. That lover is me: the most pathetic lover of all. To only want love yet to have never been loved a second in my life.
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