3UNDERSTANDING THE UNKNOWN
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We all know the well adored but slightly overused cliché storyline: there's a fine line between love and hate. But what if this was reversed? Passionate burning love before raging hatred. Will it be too late to explore the heart? Is there really something called fate? I thought someone would have learned from Romeo and Juliet.
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"We all sing the songs of separation
And we watch our lives bleed out through our hands
That's how it was on the first day
When we saw Paris in Flames
Rain, rain down
I think it's going to rain, rain down"
– Paris in Flames, Thursday
It's a known fact that everyone experiences some form of love in a given stage of their life. But what constitutes this consumption? Who knows the entirety of its complexity? Is it merely a developed devotion to family? Or perhaps an imminent need to go to any length for a friend? Maybe even an abusive relationship between an old man and alcohol? Or is it something so confusing that no one dares question where it sprung from?
These rhetorical questions tirelessly swirl, demanding solutions but receiving absolutely nothing, zilch. Funny how even our modern scientists are just as clueless, unable to so much as grasp an answer. But perhaps it was always meant to remain unknown, acknowledged as only a presence that mysteriously lurks between the subconscious of ones brain and its mental block – our human lack of comprehension of things such as the enormity of the universe.
I always only observed. Yes that was little old me, stereotyped to sit lonesome in a dingy corner, lunch untouched as I scribbled over emotional and deep poetry into a graffitied journal. And while I do have a journal, which I truthfully admit does contain some assumptions that the image portrays, this is not essential to the story as of yet.
So, moving back to the current focal point of my stream of thoughts, I guess you could call me pretty cynical. In my opinion there are only two types of teenagers: those that are clearly in love with the idea of love and those that chose to deliberately loathe and oppose the very notion. It must be hard for you to clearly place me into a category, note the heavy sarcasm.
I'm also somewhat of a walking contradiction, although isn't everyone? Not that I read trashy lustful novels, but I do enjoy a good banter filled Pride and Prejudice and the like. But hey, everyone has their favourite genre – it's not my fault that mine just so happens to challenge the central core of my existent beliefs and values. Because we all know love is only present in stories, where pure emotions and happy endings do exist as it is a world unlike reality.
Ahhhh, the bitch in our lives, reality. Yes, a reality devoid of real love. A real-ity of sorts. You ask me why I am so bitter? Why I am so resolved to live forever in coldness?
That's because I too questioned myself, so much so that I finally gathered the courage to take that plunge into a rollercoaster of sensations, and not only did it manage to stab my heart into an unfixable pulsating bloody mess, it came back to bite me in the –
"PARIS ELIZABETH ELLIOT"
(Lets not get into my initials but suffice to say my parents somewhat regret their decision after a sharpened carrot peeler came into the equation)
No, this wasn't your typical cliché interruption of a chemistry teacher scolding you for day dreaming. I wish. No, this was much worse. Nor was it my mother ranting about planning her fifth wedding to perfection – again may I say CLICHÉ. Ironically enough, if you have any wiry humour left after my shattering confession than I suggest you use it, my mum was planning her funeral, for jumping apples eating crocodile sakes! Her funeral! At the old, very old, oh might I say extremely old age of 42.
"Need I shout your name to the neighbours while discussing such a (sob) morbid and (sob) depressing issue (sob)?" It is here that her demeanour visibly brightens, as she jumps up and down in her seat like a child on a rainbow lollipop while recalling in a detailed description, of which I shall spare you, about the new iron coffin hinges that apparently rust 0.5 per cent less than all previous brands.
Oh how I shall shout to the heavens, 'We're saved, we're saved! New coffin hinges that won't rust as much! We're saved!'
I know, right? When people meet her they tend to cease questioning my sanity, obviously it's evident where I got it from, or lack thereof. Not that I'm completely complaining, it does prove interesting in the Ultimate War of Comebacks, our Friday night stay-at-home family tradition. I just shrug off the wierded out looks of my peers, its not like their important enough to make me change for them and all that is typical school society of cliques.
Cue you asking yourself if in fact this story will be the biggest cliché of them all, eventually falling in love with that womanizer of all womanizers like all those annoying I'm-practically-naked-and-my-face-is-caked-in-makeup-watch-me-bend-down-low-and-lower-for-your-view-eeewwwww girls. No. Definitely not. Why? Because that had already happened.
And look at the result.
He swore that he loved me, but how could he? Who could love in this society driven solely by materialistic lust and false image rather than true companionship? Love isn't some fleeting adolescent emotion easily expressed, no. It can't be fallen easily in and out leaving an unchanged person. It can't be forgotten and discarded like it never happened. It can't be, and yet it is. Does not anyone value as I do?
This pretend love hurts. And the lesson you should never forget: run and run until you can't run anymore.
Oh sorry, I don't believe we have been formally introduced yet. My name's Paris. After being subjected to my stream of consciousness, we can all agree I'm just an average extremely ordinary teenage girl, right? RIGHT?
A/N: Review yeah? YEAH!
she gets skills from the pills.