Do you like the idea of being an idea. No past, no future, just an idea that expands and contracts to a person’s liking, existing completely in theory, and therefore perfect. You would be untouchable, on a pedestal, wanted and needed and never had. You’d be a standard, a greatness of sorts and admired. And maybe even when the person’s gone and moved on to something else, you will always haunt them. And you’ll be a ghost, a ghost of something that could’ve been magnificent.
But then, you know, you’ll probably ache as they ache (if not more). Because then you will be restrained and held back, and always bound to be without. You have to hold yourself above wanting because wanting would make you concrete and human and possible, and that would defeat the purpose. As much as you would destroy, you would also sort of be destroyed by your restlessness.
You will want to want. And be dismantled by something vivid. And had as much as craved, and satisfy as much as deprive. But then you’d be achievable, something to attain. Not painted and carved and sculpted and made immortal in art and memories and endless regret.
