내가 전부였을 네 세계가 넓어지고 어느 순간 내가 존재하지 않는 너만의 세계가 생겨나는 것을 나는 지켜보겠지. 그건 어떤 감각일까. 내가 모르는 너의 세계. 천천히 조금씩 일어나는 걸까? 아니면 어느 순간 문득 일어나 마치 지금까지 늘 그래왔던 양 천연덕스럽게 존재해버리게 되는 걸까?
하지만 그것도 괜찮을 일일 것이다. 어느날 이미네게 생겨버린 너의 세계를 내가 알게 되어도, 아마 분명히 조금은 쓸쓸하겠지만, 우리가 함께 했던 시간의 충만함이 내게는 온전히 남아있을 것이기에.
전혀 지겹지도 전혀 버겁지도 않겠지만, 절대적인 필요와 절대적인 관심에 흠뻑 젖어서 이 애정이 두려울 지경인 그런 순간이 기다려진다. 기다리고 있다.
끝을 알아볼 수 있는 지혜를, 끝을 받아들일 수 있는 용기를, 끝을 견뎌낼 수 있는 인내를.
다만 슬픔의 구렁텅이에 한없이 빠져버리는 뻔한 어리석음으로부터 보호하소서.
The problem with your emotions, well, okay, my emotions, is precisely that – they are unwieldy. They reside in you, seem to belong to you, and yet act in surprisingly unpredictable and uncontrollable ways that they make you wonder whether you have them or they have you. Okay, I slipped back into that presumptive second person pronoun there. But that’s not because I assume there is some totalizing universality to be gleaned from my measly, albeit acute, emotional debacle, but because I experience an epistemological disjunction whenever I face a problem, splitting into oh-so-analytical-and-ever-so-sensibly-judgmental me and sitting-in-the-corner-blubbering-hysterically-after-getting-into-yet-another-problem me. It sounds like this super-ego-esque me should have been there in the first place, saving the blubbering idiot from making the mistake that got us both in this mess, but oh no, more often than not, it’s that over-analytical windbag that blows a hole into which I fall and get stuck.
Hmm, I see several strains of thoughts emerging here, but wait, there goes that smart-ass again, so shut up me. But seriously, the pathological vocabulary and attitude exhibited in the previous paragraph deserve further probing. I should pause here and ask, why is it that delving into one’s psychosomatic self is so alluringly consuming? Everyone’s a flapping narcissist and no one can stop talking about oneself given the chance? Perhaps. (Oh, wait, just me?) No one else is going to care as much or know as much, so this is a unique opportunity to sound and even be authoritative without having to resort to a long list of bibliography? Self indulgent fun and illusory empowerment, yay! Or is it just another deferment tactic? Deferring the moment of pain as you distance yourself from your emotions analyzing them rather than experiencing them, deferring the moment of work that looms behind your cocoon of self-misery, and so on.
Enough meta on meta for now. Back to the unwieldiness of emotions. I mean later.