#WhitePaper:”Unexploded Bomb”

Italian version


Why do certain feelings, certain emotions, remain? He keeps asking me. Why, despite all the rationalizations, the thoughts, the will to want to get rid of certain things, some are still so deeply rooted that there is no way out?

Why does one continue to love even without the other person being there, and in any case, does not have particular merit?

Why are there “stalkers”, people who keep thinking about that person, who have been trapped inside some regret, unable to take the next steps? I wondered these things.

I too am one who got stuck, unable to censor myself, to destroy what I had, which is still so precious, with the fear that if I destroyed it, it would be as if I had wasted it.

However, I do not “stalk”, nor do I do all the nonsense that someone has supposed me to do: I just wrote, my now main outlet, but nothing more, I guarantee it.

Despite this and my ability to rationalize, I still find myself in difficulty with what is not, that is, something that cannot be controlled, that does not always have a logical explanation.

However, I had to do something, and I realized lately, that I don’t think there is so much obsession towards a person to “fuck us”, but that it is something that ended badly, unexpressed.

When things end in anger, in indifference, that’s what triggers the “evil”. There are situations in which it is easier for us to do it, because the person with whom we are confronted is more capable of being however not so unpleasant, he makes himself understood and is not offensive.

Rationally, without breaking out into any passion or anger, or when you manage to maintain good relationships, and, in some cases, you can, over time, create very strong and solid friendships.

Instead, those who do not have something that still gives them a little satisfaction, or, if you like, a peaceful heart, will continue to ask questions, to torment themselves.

An unexploded bomb.

An unspoken feeling, rejected, beaten, killed even before it can be delivered to the recipient, blocked, destroyed, and not respected.

And that’s what triggers the blockade: because it didn’t end in the best way.

What makes you fixate is never the rejection itself, but how you fail to see the other as a person who still has something precious towards you. The fear is not of the person, but of what he feels.

He has no bad intention, the feeling of love is harmless in itself.

He who loves wants your good, your happiness, and nothing would make him better than being himself the instrument of your well-being.

It is the greatest form of altruism, in my opinion, consequently, love.

Giving and receiving joy, giving and receiving, this is balance, this is the truth about love and there is nothing wrong with it.

Nothing made me happier than making the person I loved laugh, believing I was capable of giving something so beautiful, that it made me fall in love.

But many things I have never been able to express, and therefore we are here, always like unexploded bombs, keeping everything inside, because we can no longer communicate, remaining with unanswered questions.

Since none of us are born “crazy”, none of us are born violent. Wickedness or violence is thrown out of others.

I know I was stabbed in the back. It still seems incredible to me that someone like me is still regarded as the “bad guy”.

By now I know that whoever is considered such is only the scapegoat. Because if one asks questions it is really all too linear, without skimming, without discrepancies. All too convincing.

In my head they made me think I was some kind of monster, and I will never forgive that.

And I know that the real way to stop thinking about something is certainly not being told: “don’t think about it”, as if it were really that simple, like turning a button off and on. We are not switches.

And so by now I know that responsibility is always so conveniently laid out towards only one, as is the truth. By now I know the people, the world that wants to manipulate you and hijack your opinion. Who tells me that the blame for this war actually lies entirely with Putin, after I’ve seen so many?

I carry on me the fears and the faults of those I loved, while that one escaped, I unconsciously protected, but kept on me what was not mine, growing by force and remaining with nothing in my hand.

We are unexploded bombs, which will remain so. The truth is that the only way to stop being in this way would be a real closure, with a final confrontation, without quarrels, without even being together or being friends as a consequence,

but only to be able to detonate this bomb.

Do you understand me?

But I know it will never happen, that I will have to live with it, until I meet someone else, but I’m still trying to get it through first … it’s not easy and it’s not nice to

still be like this after all this time, but what can I say? I can’t force anything in and out of me and I won’t.

I miss it I wanted to be like that, I just wanted a fucking hug and a laugh, without having to obsess, without even having to demand love or answers.

A little was enough, the little that no one thinks about, because now we are all like this: cut, cut relationships instead of facing the other person’s feelings.

He runs away, like a coward, do not give explanations, he thinks that the only way to make a person stop thinking about you is to disappear and erase.

Instead you get the opposite effect, and you have no way to get out, you get stuck, even thinking about those with whom you also behave in that way, with the difference that those, however, have treated you like shit.

But then you stay like that, with empty hands, and an unexploded bomb inside.


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