Never say never is an oxymoron. How lame.
If you die, I'm never going to forgive myself for having let you go, EVER.
And if you don't die...
Please don't die. Please live. Please choose to live.
There are so many options you can't see now, but they're there and you know they're there. See them. Please. Please.
I've been wanting to blog in Arabic, but it's so hard! Full-stops and exclamation marks automatically go the beginning of the sentence, the punctuation becomes messed up and really annoying to my eye! Uuuuuugh!
I give up on all the things I would fight for. Because I'm tired. I just want to live, and breathe.
I could just try to make the best out of being at home all the time.
And peacefully.
I'm beginning to succeed in creating a world for me in my head. The imagination. And I can smile with absolutely no reason, and nod with understanding eyes to dad and say 7ader every two seconds while I'm actually thinking whether or not this and that theory applies to the "notion" of memory in Memento .
I think I'm happier this way. Not exactly happier, it takes a lot of energy to be completely absent from the person talking in front of you, but I'm not sorry. If I don't think certain amount of minutes are worth it doing this certain thing, I'm free to do something else in my mind.
Dear Anonymous,
I don't know who you are, but I can tell you're an emotional person who likes reading my blog. These are the two pieces of information I can tell from your comments on my last couple of posts.
I hope you enjoy being anonymous, and I want to tell you that I enjoy it just as much as you do. You're like a picture found on the street, open to all suggestions. I can make a story behind you. I can say you're an old friend of mine who bumped into my blog, I can say that you're a girl from Latvia who checks my blog regularly because we're going through the same things. It's fun imagining what you don't know. So, thank you for taking the time, and thank you for making space for me to imagine.
Dear He Who Shall Not Be Named,
Do you know that I write you letters every day?
I write you letters every day.
I'll never give them to you. They're to you, but not for you. Because I won't tell you that I love you. Because I'm such a desperate lover who writes letters left unsent.
I make myself laugh inside.
And I remember your apologetic smile. And I wonder if your smile was for me, apologizing for the fact you'll never love me back.
One day I'll give them letters to you, and you won't believe someone loved you enough to write letters everyday that will never be sent. And that someone loved you enough to keep it unsaid.
And then you'll laugh inside.
And when you're blinded by morning light
In the morning
You'll see the whiteness of the paper
And recognize
My love to you.
The walls of my room seem to be closing in on me.
I can't think of anything beautiful. Suddenly, all I'm thinking is how many ways there are to end one's life.
Or, how many ways are there to runaway?
I'm so tired of this.
The saddest part is I don't want to die, I love life.
I have this secret desire to send an e-mail that says "help" to everyone I know and see what their reaction will be. It's pretty desperate.
I will breathe now.
And then I will be sane again.
And the bitterness will go away.
Dear You,
Yes, I love you. And I wish it were April's fool, whatever, because it would have been easier.
Yes, I do know you do not love me.
Yes, I do know you are not even reading this, which also makes me comfortable.
I imagined you today across the table from me and I smiled at you, and like usual, you smiled back. Your usual apologetic smile failed you, like always.
Dear Smile,
I am not sorry, why are you? How come you fail to understand I'm happy because I feel, regardless of the feeling? How come you fail to understand that my smile in return is me being euphoric, it's me laughing inside. I laugh so much inside if I let it out, it would scare them. Because laughter is from the devil.
Dear Devil,
Dear Mother,
I can't tolerate anything from you anymore simply because I'm tired of you and your stupid repetition of the same mistakes again. I am tired of your wanting to be close and talk, I am tired of it. Why? Because it leads to no-where.
I am sick of your ways that never change, and your strong belief that you actually listen, when you're the one who talks over people most.
Dear You,
How can you be scared by my anger, when you're the one who's angry but never say you are? You should be happy that I can let out so much anger that you keep inside.
Dear Me,
One day me and you will lay down on the sand and dream and say it was all worth it, it was all worth fighting for.
Dear Nuweibaa,
I am not coming. My glasses are broken.
Dear Glasses,
Everyone/Everything dies.
