Before, there was the theory of the community, the theory of the plural, the theory of the towards-other. That gave me strength. Strength, as it gives many people strength to love.

But now people are gone. My love is gone. Very gone. And when I speak of the self, I mean a very different self than I used to have, or what I used to be able to imagine.

Self here is something that appeared to me as Gebrochung. Brokening in English. A persistent brokenness, something smoldering. An ache. And something that never heals.

It is possible to imagine a life without brokening, but in practice it does not exist.

When the beloved person dies. That is breakage. It breaks us. It causes damage to our human life that cannot be repaired, that does not pass and that does not heal. That is our breaking.

When the beloved person does not love me, cannot love me. They die. Or something dies in me. This is the main brokening of all of us. It is inside of us. The brokening of blatantly not being loved. Also in a societal sense. Or in a natural sense. That the world, as it presents itself to us, seeks our death, our annihilation, and there is nothing but our consoling acknowledgment of that which could protect us from it. We are helpless, we are broken, death awaits us. But the fact that we, through the recognition of that, can think our survival, gives back to us as tears our believe in life.

I wanted so much not to be sad, to make something of my life, as resonated in one of Arendt's words. But to what end? Maybe it is impossible. I am not able to.

It will come, if it may come. I am running on empty. I must throw myself into the floods as a cold body. What carries me is the world, or God. I will not sink.

I am not going through a separation from Esther, but to me comes a pain that I did not want to see for so long, and that I covered up with my relationship with her.

My decline happens in installments.
The body just speaks to itself.

A model was a human as a knotting being, knotting along and between the other beings, the scraps of knowledge and everything that has been handed down to it.

But what is that anyway? It is not enough.

There is a person who is completely finished and stubborn. Unyielding. Who remains for themselves.

A text, a score springs from them. And so this person stands as an appearance.

It is a selfhood where everything falls away. That does not care about references. For all that matters to them is how reality flows into them and remains there.