Bold: Annie Hall

No interpretation, no commentary needed.

[Alvy addresses a pair of strangers on the street]
Alvy Singer: Here, you look like a very happy couple, um, are you?
Female street stranger: Yeah.
Alvy Singer: Yeah? So, so, how do you account for it?
Female street stranger: Uh, I’m very shallow and empty and I have no ideas and nothing interesting to say.
Male street stranger: And I’m exactly the same way.
Alvy Singer: I see. Wow. That’s very interesting. So you’ve managed to work out something?

-excerpt from “Annie Hall”

Anna

Death knows not my solemn dream,
Dying in her’s all that seems
To light the fire in mine eye,
Touched with the flame of hers to die.

Music runneth from her lips,
Rests in the harmony of her soul,
And I will drink a thousand sips,
Sweet poison settled in her bowl.

And in my heart of hearts I’ve vowed,
Unknowingly but yet I did,
To die an amorous victim, 
Unknowingly but yet I will.

Muttered I an’ ever spoke?
To what occasion must I speak?
For hearts that wander, life that broke,
Will not mend a world so bleak.

Did not her eyes beset a fire?
Enchantment did not last a day,
But took a day and stretched it high’r,
Lit infernos in my everyday.

My Anna will not speak of love,
For time that’s longer than her own,
She’ll speak of men that travel free,
To hold on hours on the phone.

And in my heart of hearts I’ve vowed,
Unknowingly but yet I did,
To die an amorous victim, 
Unknowingly, my Anna’s will.

Why We Hurt the People We Love

There is this wonder about relationships, be they platonic or romantic, how they bring out the demons inside us, and how they self-destruct from self-inflicted disaster.

I’m not discussing any particular case: abuse, trauma, or just your average brother and sister, or husband and wife, just how normal people hurt each other most when they love each other most.

And I’ve come to realize that inside us is something so dark, so ugly, that we always seem to reject, to hide. I don’t know where it comes from, whether we’re all cursed with a bad side or just cursed with bad lives that bring them out. Still though, I know that the more you know someone, the more comfortable you are with them, the more naked you can be around them.

There’s a thing about being spiritually and emotionally naked around someone, something that both comforts and threatens us, it is that with being so raw, comes being so vulnerable, with all our scars exposed, and all our blemishes there in plain sight. Such nakedness is an acquired mode of being, and it demands above all, trust. And with trust comes secrets, and stories, and laughter, and pain, but also more than anything, the pain of self-discovery.

And so it is, that we hurt the people we love, not because we want to, but because we trust them with a deep, dark part of ourselves, that we deem only right to show them, however we’ve tried to repress.

And in trying to save them, we kill part of ourselves, or try to at least, for it is never easy to break our loyalty to what above all defines us, hamartia.

And it is never fully honest, to conceal or hide away, that part of ourselves which we find most unpleasant, to the people which we trust most with ourselves.

Still, in the back of our minds remains this inner guilt, this disgust towards the reality of our bitter ugliness, and we must live, half-forgiving our mistakes, half-accepting our most tragic flaws, all-regretful of the souls we broke, while failing to fix our own.

“Don’t get too close. It’s dark inside; it’s where my demons hide.”
-Imagine Dragons