When I type through pain

I wonder what goes on in the mind of a gynecologist; what his wife thinks and whether he has daughters and whether the daughters go to their father. He told me about having a son, but I didn’t want to ask any further questions.
There is this terrible pain my left hand; it hurts most whenever I type ‘a’ or ‘q’. My closest friend tells me to look after myself and to care about myself instead of worrying about anything else, even if it’s my family who needs the attention. This advice is to prevent me from falling apart he says. I know he is right, but why would I let my family down? – Because I know I have no strength to support them? I guess so.  It is not easy to move on when you know you’re leaving something behind; something which is yet undone. But in this case…
I’m not as emotional as you think; it’s just wishful thinking and my habit of romanticizing things, despite my inability to handle romanticism. I can only hope to have someone in future who is emotionally stable. A clash of individual emotions is war and that’s why people say love’s a battlefield, but it’s not, it’s simply black and white penetrating each other. And throughout their lives, they’ll learn to deal with it and to accept it. All this grey area is a product of my perception; my perception of people and their personalities. I see all the misunderstandings, all origin of fights and wonder whether it’d be easier to simply vote a party to belong to instead of being ostracized by everyone because you are apparently inaccessible. Everyone has his/her own idea of what I represent and I’m glad to know that they are all wrong.

I want those I don’t want, those I wouldn’t usually go for because they always treat me better than anyone else. Do you know what I mean? But then it’s the charisma which seduces me with its bright eyes and this hidden smile around its lips. It’s the spark which this indescribable chemical reaction evokes, but this kind of charisma only slumbers in the spirit of the dead and the non-existent or the taken ones. This is what it feels like when you’re in love and you don’t know who that is. It might also be a mere illusion, loneliness or the naivety of a romanticist.
My hand feels very sore…

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