sigh.
Once upon a time I wrote that. Very astute, methinks. But I look and see and it's been far too long since I wrote anything here more than a few sentences long.
Time was when the blue was the only thing that kept me sane, when the blue was the only place where I was uninhibited enough to go right ahead and write whatever was in my poor tormented head at that moment, regardless of organising thoughts and making sense. And today I go forward and back and edit. oh, the shame.
I'd forgotten how much fun it used to be, though, the continual self-analysis. why did i stop? perhaps i got happy. today was...an odd day. almost like old times. i wanted to tell someone about it, only who? the pa is long gone, and the bee i don't want to bother, and i don't trust anyone now anyway.
today i thought about unhappy people. people unhappy. and i thought about how i cannot bear to have people i care about unhappy. and then i thought about how i define these people i care about - people i've never met, people i'll never meet, people i've known barely days.
once i wrote a boy a letter - eight pages long, handwritten, air-mailed; and once i made a boy a mixed tape - twenty-odd songs, hand picked, pre-arranged, timed; and once i wrote a girl haiku - specific, titled, special; and - but that makes no difference to anyone now, does it?
i can try, in my little clumsy awkward way, to make things better, make it all better; fix it fix it fix it; but nothing works because people don't understand the gesture at all. and he will say "why did you? you barely know me", and i'll cry because oh, he doesn't understand, and then i'll write him a letter full of lies just so that he'll believe them and feel better, and poof, you see? i did what i needed to do.
and really, in the end, i feel as though i shouldn't bother. because i can scream till i'm blue in the face about wanting people to think i'm nice, and having ulterior motives for all the things i do for people, but the truth is, i cannot sit by and do nothing when a person makes me feel as though they're unhappy. i can't. i can't. even if all i manage to do is to show them that there is one person who notices when they're feeling less than great, i need to show, i need to tell. and maybe it is, oh, it probably is, because no one ever told me.
and there is someone right next to you, and they're miserable, and there's nothing you can do; because can you guarantee a well-paying job and a loving partner and a bright future and a happy ending?
sigh. i wish there were a way.
hugs are good, but still.
sigh.
maybe i'll buy her a Johnson's baby lotion (TM). just to show i care.
And apple pie and cheese for a certain special someone. He doesn't stop by here, but it needed to be said. Much like all the other nonsense over on the blue.
Do I feel better?
No. But I feel romantically melancholy, and it's been a long time.
All hail the blue! :)
i love u too.
Once upon a time I wrote that. Very astute, methinks. But I look and see and it's been far too long since I wrote anything here more than a few sentences long.
Time was when the blue was the only thing that kept me sane, when the blue was the only place where I was uninhibited enough to go right ahead and write whatever was in my poor tormented head at that moment, regardless of organising thoughts and making sense. And today I go forward and back and edit. oh, the shame.
I'd forgotten how much fun it used to be, though, the continual self-analysis. why did i stop? perhaps i got happy. today was...an odd day. almost like old times. i wanted to tell someone about it, only who? the pa is long gone, and the bee i don't want to bother, and i don't trust anyone now anyway.
today i thought about unhappy people. people unhappy. and i thought about how i cannot bear to have people i care about unhappy. and then i thought about how i define these people i care about - people i've never met, people i'll never meet, people i've known barely days.
once i wrote a boy a letter - eight pages long, handwritten, air-mailed; and once i made a boy a mixed tape - twenty-odd songs, hand picked, pre-arranged, timed; and once i wrote a girl haiku - specific, titled, special; and - but that makes no difference to anyone now, does it?
i can try, in my little clumsy awkward way, to make things better, make it all better; fix it fix it fix it; but nothing works because people don't understand the gesture at all. and he will say "why did you? you barely know me", and i'll cry because oh, he doesn't understand, and then i'll write him a letter full of lies just so that he'll believe them and feel better, and poof, you see? i did what i needed to do.
and really, in the end, i feel as though i shouldn't bother. because i can scream till i'm blue in the face about wanting people to think i'm nice, and having ulterior motives for all the things i do for people, but the truth is, i cannot sit by and do nothing when a person makes me feel as though they're unhappy. i can't. i can't. even if all i manage to do is to show them that there is one person who notices when they're feeling less than great, i need to show, i need to tell. and maybe it is, oh, it probably is, because no one ever told me.
and there is someone right next to you, and they're miserable, and there's nothing you can do; because can you guarantee a well-paying job and a loving partner and a bright future and a happy ending?
sigh. i wish there were a way.
hugs are good, but still.
sigh.
maybe i'll buy her a Johnson's baby lotion (TM). just to show i care.
And apple pie and cheese for a certain special someone. He doesn't stop by here, but it needed to be said. Much like all the other nonsense over on the blue.
Do I feel better?
No. But I feel romantically melancholy, and it's been a long time.
All hail the blue! :)
i love u too.
