No, it’s not love. Love isn’t new. Love has been there for centuries, and people will probably continue to love for centuries to come.
It’s independence.
Recently, I’ve realized that I no longer feel the need for company. It might be that life is slightly busier now: army, business, music – almost every single second of my time is spent on those things. But more likely, I suspect, it might be because I am finally over Lena. Truly and for good. I don’t feel sad when I think of her; I don’t feel happy when I think of her; I hardly even think of her, but when I do, I feel nothing, as if she is just some stranger whose name I can somehow recognize. I don’t think I would love anyone anytime soon, and I don’t see how that is a problem.
There has been a series of short affairs, however, sustained by nothing but a Dionysian impulse. They were fun while they lasted, but it stops there. In exchange for love, I’ve discovered the liberty to flirt and make merry. Nothing spectacular, just a different lifestyle.
My friends whom I once used to hang out a lot with also seem to be embracing vastly different lifestyles. Those who club, club; those who idle, club; those who failed their As, club. For me, I find no pleasure in clubbing. And thus we split apart, for the lack of a common activity.
I don’t feel sentimental a lot these days. (Is it bad? Am I losing my humanity?) I don’t feel the need to express myself, except only in ways that humor myself and those around me. Artistically, I am losing it.
Wayward in spirit, the force of commercialism pulls me hither and thither towards all that is interactive.