Of inheritance and her definition of love.

While driving home from office, her mind filled up with such chaotic and penetrating thoughts that she thought it was going to explode. She was failing, scattering behind the pusillanimous display of bravura, the irony of her life. Her father’s aspirations for her, her “love” life, her own aspirations and failures, all lined up for the dance of death.

Her father has been drinking again, leaving her alone with the weight of inheritance, which was proving to be more of a curse than a blessing. Money is not easy to come. What an asshole he is, she thought. Leaving her without the choice to heal and achieve something significant.

And just recently, her “love” asked her out for dinner, she had felt first happiness, only to be replaced by a frown. Maybe he was the reason why every other problem of hers seemed so solemn. She had had a passing thought over oh so many years of friendship that maybe he was the kind of man she would fall in love with, followed immediately by the thought that maybe...maybe...romance is an inheritance too. And even the kind of romance or a relationship that she would want is something that she was to inevitably and imperceptibly adapt from her culture without even questioning it.

She became irritated, and in vexation, slammed the brakes of her car near an isolated spot. She threw her head back, remembering herself. What an ardent romantic she was, how much she thought of romance as something which was inevitable, and more so imminent.

But is there a chance, a fragment of light
at the end of the tunnel, a reason to fight?

God, she didn’t even know if they were friends anymore. She’d never thought that love would be as disempowering as this. Though every atom in her body craved love, she was beginning to be so very skeptical that it was just an oblique idea for her. She’d told him she couldn’t come for dinner, wanting to achieve something with her free time. He didn't pursue her thereafter, she stopped letting the conversations consume her.

Oh fuck it; she breathed a sigh of relief. 

If there is love, it has to be bigger than this. It has to be stronger than this. It should let her put herself first. And maybe this kind of love doesn’t really exist. But she knew one thing for sure, that she didn’t have to inherit the kind of love that the world loves. She smiled, and said “It will be my solipsistic love”.