Esther, I love God because it is so painful to love human beings. I love a God that never leaves or that always leaves me. God, the absence of God, always reassuring and definitive. I am a priest, I have renounced my fellow man, my fellow women, because I don’t want to suffer, because I’m incapable of withstanding the heartbreak of love, because I’m unhappy, like all priests. It would be wonderful to love you the way you want to be loved, but it’s not possible. Because I am not a man. I am a coward. Like all priests.
A woman, I forget who, once asked a male friend why men felt threatened by women. He replied that they were afraid that women might laugh at them. When she asked a group of women why women felt threatened by men, they said, “We’re afraid they might kill us.”
The foolish ones go with women on the sly. The wise ones long ago understood the degree to which sex, as a source of pleasure, has overvalued in our society.
I’m sorry you didn’t have a life. But if truth be told, you’re not missing much. I know it’s easy for me to say with warm breath in my lungs, and you with nothing. Still, what would you have had? Parents? Well, they’re the ones who wrote your last act, so not much lost there. Friends? Most likely fair weather. Lovers? Fun for a bit, I’ll admit, but all eventually disappoint. And let’s face it, you’re a girl. Your mother was right about one thing. We’re just vessels. And even when we’re told we’re special, as I was, as you would’ve been, we’re still just vessels, for them to take, and take, until we’re empty, and alone. So, count yourself lucky. You’ve cheated the game and won without even knowing it.[to a dead baby]
Why do women have to pretend to be something that they’re not? Why do we have to pretend to be stupid when we’re not stupid? Why do we have to pretend to be helpless when we’re not helpless? Why do we have to pretend to be sorry when we have nothing to be sorry about? Why do we have to pretend we’re not hungry when we’re hungry?
We are not women who crawl. We are not women who kneel. And for this we will be branded radicals. Revolutionists. Women who are strong, and refuse to be degraded, and choose to protect themselves, are called monsters. That is the world’s crime, not ours.
The truth matters. Sometimes it’s the only weapon that we have against the powerful men who are trying to shut us up.