One of these days I found myself in war. The dreaming side of me kept on telling people that love is what we live for, whereas the racional side of me kept telling me that was an illusion. “I mean, someone can spend their whole life with themselves and they’ll never know everything about them. Think about it. Isn’t it too much to ask, to know someone completely, when you don’t even know yourself? If you don’t know how they’re feeling, how can you rejoice on the slightest possibility of someone loving you? What if that’s all an illusion? What if, even without knowing it, they’re just lying to you to make you feel ok? You can’t know for sure. No one can.” said the racional-me; as the dreaming-me replied: “But if I choose to believe it, I should also admit that there’s no real possibility of hapiness in this world. If love is just an illusion, so is happiness. Guess I rather have the illusion of being loved and being happy than to be condemned to live a hollow existence. I rather be a blessed fool than an unhappy sage.”
By that moment, I started wondering if my dreaming side shouldn’t be named racional after all.
(15.06.2011)
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