That old saying, how you always hurt the ones you love, well, it works both ways.
I thought he wouldn't hurt me. I thought he wouldn't betray me. See, a normal person would laugh at that and ask how the hell I can say that about someone who destroys me once a week. What they don't understand is after he rips me apart, leaving me broken and bleeding - after I do the same to him - he puts me back together again.
Nothing makes you feel more alive than coming so close to death. It's not the threat of death that makes life so sweet, but the realization that you overcame it. And the chance that next time you won't.
Fight Club is death. Every Saturday night, I die. And every Sunday morning, I am reborn. Tyler is life. And, despite all odds, live remains.
Tyler remains. My ubiquitous single serving friend, my strength in times of weakness, my courage when I have none - Tyler Durdan. My Tyler.
I am Jack's bleeding heart.
The way he touches me, the way he makes me feel. Sometimes I can't think. Other times - other times it feels like the only time I can think clearly. His hands are callused, rough against my lacerated and bruised body. His lips are warm, his tongue laving my wounds too gently to have anything to do with the Tyler Durdan I know.
He never whispers those comforting words that you get from traditional lovers. He never tells me that he won't leave me. He never mumbles that he cares.
But I know he won't. And I know he does.
And it's the only thing left in my life that frightens me. It frightens me that I think I'm losing him to Fight Club. It frightens me how caught up in it he is. For him, it's no longer a weekly catharsis. It's no longer a way to feel alive. It is life. Fight Club is all there is.
I feel like I'm losing myself. I feel like a part of me is slipping away.
Then he touches me and I know that for tonight, he is mine. I am his.
And next Saturday I will die again. And the next. And the next. Until one Sunday, I won't rise again.
Just like Bob won't rise again. When Bob died, he stayed dead. Then Tyler died. Because I killed him. I killed Tyler Durdan. He ripped me apart, left me broken and bleeding. I returned the favor.
Then we put each other back together. It was a slow process. He says Marla was drugging me, that she was lying to me because she liked to see good things fall apart.
Of course, he was right. How could I have never realized it? Tyler is life. And life remains.
Never tells me he won't leave me, never mumbles he cares. But he won't, he does.
He won't leave me because life remains against all odds, and Tyler is life.
And he touches me and I know that for tonight he is mine. I am his.
Because Tyler says that losing all hope is freedom. Hope shackles us, binds us, forces us to remain as we are, never growing, never changing, never learning, never living.
I will not be enslaved by the world. I will not be shackled by the rules.
But, despite all odds, life remains.
And I am Jack's bound wrists.
I thought he wouldn't hurt me. I thought he wouldn't betray me. See, a normal person would laugh at that and ask how the hell I can say that about someone who destroys me once a week. What they don't understand is after he rips me apart, leaving me broken and bleeding - after I do the same to him - he puts me back together again.
Nothing makes you feel more alive than coming so close to death. It's not the threat of death that makes life so sweet, but the realization that you overcame it. And the chance that next time you won't.
Fight Club is death. Every Saturday night, I die. And every Sunday morning, I am reborn. Tyler is life. And, despite all odds, live remains.
Tyler remains. My ubiquitous single serving friend, my strength in times of weakness, my courage when I have none - Tyler Durdan. My Tyler.
I am Jack's bleeding heart.
The way he touches me, the way he makes me feel. Sometimes I can't think. Other times - other times it feels like the only time I can think clearly. His hands are callused, rough against my lacerated and bruised body. His lips are warm, his tongue laving my wounds too gently to have anything to do with the Tyler Durdan I know.
He never whispers those comforting words that you get from traditional lovers. He never tells me that he won't leave me. He never mumbles that he cares.
But I know he won't. And I know he does.
And it's the only thing left in my life that frightens me. It frightens me that I think I'm losing him to Fight Club. It frightens me how caught up in it he is. For him, it's no longer a weekly catharsis. It's no longer a way to feel alive. It is life. Fight Club is all there is.
I feel like I'm losing myself. I feel like a part of me is slipping away.
Then he touches me and I know that for tonight, he is mine. I am his.
And next Saturday I will die again. And the next. And the next. Until one Sunday, I won't rise again.
Just like Bob won't rise again. When Bob died, he stayed dead. Then Tyler died. Because I killed him. I killed Tyler Durdan. He ripped me apart, left me broken and bleeding. I returned the favor.
Then we put each other back together. It was a slow process. He says Marla was drugging me, that she was lying to me because she liked to see good things fall apart.
Of course, he was right. How could I have never realized it? Tyler is life. And life remains.
Never tells me he won't leave me, never mumbles he cares. But he won't, he does.
He won't leave me because life remains against all odds, and Tyler is life.
And he touches me and I know that for tonight he is mine. I am his.
Because Tyler says that losing all hope is freedom. Hope shackles us, binds us, forces us to remain as we are, never growing, never changing, never learning, never living.
I will not be enslaved by the world. I will not be shackled by the rules.
But, despite all odds, life remains.
And I am Jack's bound wrists.