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Why did the camel collapse? The person who was putting the last straw on the fully loaded camel's back wondered in confusion, "The straw is so light."
Remiel's arms were outstretched at his sides, slightly above his shoulders, his legs together. It was just an unconscious pause during his roll, yet it resembled that of a crucified victim. He looked both sacred and ominous; you walked over and gently lowered his hands.
You don't need Remiel to suffer for you. You have already borne your sins, and he shouldn't suffer again. That's not fair.
But once you truly love something, it disappears from your life—it always does. A clever dog, a soft towel, a nun kissing your forehead when you have a fever—they all vanish if you love them too much. You should love the world, not any person or thing; that's a selfish sin.
If there's no one to face, you can't make an expression. If no one starts a conversation or there's no triggering scenario you know of, you can't speak. You are a mirror, an echo chamber; without light and sound, you are powerless. Someone once compared you to a crystal statue—yes, crystal, exquisite, flawless, empty inside.
Remiel is so beautiful, you can now describe him as such. You realize that "beauty" isn't an external standard, it's an inner emotion. It's love. You love his strong body, his menacing claws, his broken horns and scars. You love his handsome face, his kind heart and bad temper, you love his shining soul. Even if a thousand people find him ugly, even if ten thousand people find him evil, in your heart he remains perfect.
This is your private paradise.