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You showed me what I really want, and now I hate you for it


I am afraid to die. If you leave me, it will be like death—so I will negotiate with you so that you never leave me, and that means I will be very careful with you (lie, negotiate). If I am very careful, we will be safe—nothing bad will ever happen; and, in particular, not *the* bad thing—death. We play a game where we pretend we will never leave each other (although in the end we must—there is no choice). If we play the game well, we don’t feel anything anymore.


If I stop the game, it feels like death—so you will hate me. Yet it is only when I stop the game that it feels real, because in the end it’s not what it looks like that counts—it’s how real it feels. You hate me because I showed you the real, and because you hate me you love me. What I showed you was death—which you cannot escape, and is the only reality.

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