burden no. 2 i.e. project work consultation (from four reduced to one, but still it went surprisingly well), lunch with y & a few classmates which was quite lovely (despite-), sourcing for a new placid reading spot in school, & finding it with rapture, relished reading at the new quiet reading spot & watching occasional people pass by while believing that they could not see me because i didn't want to be seen (not because i was abashed but because i was content to efface into the same walls that i was leaning on), listened to the smiths & sang along to/with myself, took breaks from my book by glancing at the unobstructed sky (& soaking in its blissfulness), more reading & feeling (fiction built on the holocaust is terrifyingly enthralling, yet really terrifying- faced with the same circumstances, would you question the existence of god? would you accuse your friend to save your family's skins? would you choose to give yourself up into diabolical hands as an act of sacrificial love to your friend in need, if you lived only for yourself & had no family? would you snatch the gun out of the general's hands, only to plant it to your own head because you wanted to be in control of your own fate, even when you were already hovering at death's doorstep? // "i am a good person who has lived in a bad time" //), cca meeting with batchies to consolidate & make the best out of the remnants of the cca's fate, danced for a while & felt innately beautiful again despite occasional forgetfulness, penned a letter to an anonymous stranger who is a deserving recipient of love despite what the world will ever tell him/her, read some more & finished the book with tears that were a product of a harrowing ending that was imperfectly perfect
"so she had to satisfy herself with the idea of love- loving the loving of things whose existence she didn't care at all about. love itself became the object of her love. she loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for. it was not the world that was the great and saving lie, but her willingness to make it beautiful and fair"
"they reciprocated the great and saving lie- that our love for things is greater than our love for our love of things- wilfully playing the parts they wrote for themselves, wilfully creating and believing fictions necessary for life" (pg 80, 83, everything is illuminated, j.s.f)
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