There were just so many things that could have been … words that could have been said and less aggravating and such discontent feelings for me … I have to let go now but somehow, I think that I will never truly get over you.
“Half my days I cannot bear not to touch you.
The rest of my time I feel it doesn’t matter
if I ever see you again. It isn’t the morality,
it is how much you can bear.”—The English Patient, Micheal Ondaatje (via trua)
It’s horrible how it’s been a year since we’ve last talked and I still like you. I don’t know. I always tell myself to stop … but deep in my heart, I still do and I shouldn’t be feeling this way even if it’s only a tiny bit.
“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”—John Green (via shesinacoma)
For the umpteenth time, my deranged mind annoying yet cockily told me once more that “90% of my friendship are destined to die out of the honeymoon phase" … meaning that the fervor, amazement, fascination, love, and respect you hold for that person dies naturally simply because you make yourself too nice, too available, and far too ready to please. I honestly, don’t know if this is because I’m sick and delirious and I’m half insane from the pain in my mouth or if it’s the gray weather that’s making me so gloomy and jumbled up but I do have that 10% of friends and I know who they are … and they certainly know who they and I know that they respect me and would not make me go through this type of banal and meaningless drama.
This is a course that I have finally chosen and it is a course that I know I will not regret because I have given myself a chance to experience and re-experience, to live and to re-live, to miss and love, and be sad and be happy all at once. I have debated over this and I have cried and I have dreamt for three years and I have loved such dreams for three years and I have imagined and wondered all that time, and now, I have decided and I am going. Going going going away. The amount of joy that comes with in and out of my breath to the erratic beat of my heart … I never thought I would be this happy. I told myself that if I was rejected or that if I end up not going, I would cry and live under some abysmal hole somewhere in the corner of my room the whole summer and luckily, because of the choice I have made now, I will not have to go through that! Smith College, everyone! Inspirations and aspirations, here I come!
I have not been in the best of moods lately … or health. I think my immune system is failing again. I feel so groggy, tired, and moody. My nose is stuffy, my voice is croaky, and my headache would not go away. I think I might be delirious. This morning, I was talking to myself although it looked like I was talking to Harrie but Harrie was sleeping the whole time. Today also officially starts finals week for me! And after tomorrow, I will be done with UAA!
Hello again, it’s you and me. Kinda always like it used to be. — Bon Jovi
“Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. If people all over the world… would do this, it would change the earth.”—William Faulkner
I love the idea of love—living, breathing, and anticipating. Sweet and passionate amorous to amiable love. (Familial love is the best!). Unrequited to reciprocated love. I believe that when you are in love, that person will leave a trace of them in you whether it is in your thoughts, words and phrases, to dreams and nightmares, or maybe down to even habits! Nothing will be essentially facilitated when you are in love or at least, I think so. It will be unrestrained and wild and raw. It will be crude and everything will be hilarious. Adversed conditions seems copable and there is no limit to the future you two hold. Moment of inspirations come up and your voice suddenly matters because they are listening. Spontaneous articulations are unpredictable and quite palatable. I believe that it is human nature to be in love … love love love. At this moment, I am in love with not a man but my family and closest friends.
“One is happy as a result of one’s own efforts once one knows the necessary ingredients of happiness: simple tastes, a certain degree of courage, self denial to a point, love of work, and above all, a clear conscience.”—George Sand
Here I love you. In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself. The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters. Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures. A silver gull slips down from the west. Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. Oh the black cross of a ship. Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet. Far away the sea sounds and resounds. This is a port.
Here I love you. Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream. The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It’s the right size for those warm blanks in speech, for those red heart- shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing like real hearts. Add lace and you can sell it. We insert it also in the one empty space on the printed form that comes with no instructions. There are whole magazines with not much in them but the word love, you can rub it all over your body and you can cook with it too. How do we know it isn’t what goes on at the cool debaucheries of slugs under damp pieces of cardboard? As for the weed- seedlings nosing their tough snouts up among the lettuces, they shout it. Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising their glittering knives in salute.
Then there’s the two of us. This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness. It’s not love we don’t wish to fall into, but that fear. this word is not enough but it will have to do. It’s a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says O again and again in wonder and pain, a breath, a finger grip on a cliffside. You can hold on or let go.
The trouble with you is that … there is simply no trouble at all. I wish you weren’t as kind or as caring—please, give me a reason to hate you. I can never think of one and because this is so, I find myself clinging to you. Over and over and over. I know, it’s not really clinging but I’m quite drawn to you.
“The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that is has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now say that two being have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only. The rest is only the rest, and comes afterwards. Nothing is more real than these great shocks which two souls give each other in exchanging this spark.”—Victor Hugo (via iamawildthing)