Love, but not again.
Love, but differently.
Love, but,
Calmer and more observing...
Like quiet people on the bench,
Starring at each other, maybe,
Or at all kinds of different things.
Tasting different kinds of comfort,
Different kinds of knowing that:
One can lie, but one will not.
Love, but less revolutionary,
Love, but more stable...
Maybe mundane.
But, love.
It feels so good to actually know that no one reads the shit i put here even though everyone has access to it. It's really good.
Sometimes I feel dead again. That's when I runaway from things, and run toward other things...run toward other- different things.
Sometimes I have those moments when I know I do not feel. That I am doing something and completely ignoring feelings, even my own. It's very scarry because I DO want to feel things. I want to feel everything.
I dont want to runaway,though. At the same time i know that things that are painful are necessary for us to be sad and feel the sadness. Sadness might now be a very good feeling but it's good to actually feel it. It's also very inspiring. That's a good thing!
Yesterday I watched the movie Munich. Very good movie but I was mad that some of the facts were not true :/ That sucks!
....!
!
It has been such a long time since I last wrote something in this blog. It feels funny that I know no one checks it! Which is also kool at the same time because I feel more comfortable writing to myself than writing for others to read.
I have been writing a lot of "poetry" if it could ever be called that way.
I have been overwhelmed by all kinds of contradictory feelings. Love and rejection. Things hung up in the air and not knowing how to name them, or where to put them. Asking: isnt it too early in my life to go into another relationship then asking: isnt it too late in other people's life to not?
Sometimes I feel that I have never really loved. Maybe it was all just a big fat lie that my mind was playing on me...like, the Descartesian idea of deception of the mind!
It does not make that much sense, though, even though it's an interesting idea. How short love is, and how long the oblivion...(that's not mine, it's Pablo Neruda's).
Will he wait for me to make sure that I actually have feelings for him and not just having a reboundish kind of hit-back? Why would he wait for me? What makes me sure that he even likes me and will not be offended and say that we are friends not more?
Maybe I am just fascinated by him.
Maybe it's that I need a mental break! Or like, a break from any kind of emotion to the opposite (or the same!) sex!
What the hell?
