Here's a high flight: do I really expect someone else to judge anything using the same yardsticks I mark out for myself? Indeed it's stunning to see how often I am the one to blame in all my dealings with people (all except my mother - is that meaningful, doctor?)...
It's strange to see that I have withdrawn into my shell again. Strange perhaps because it does not seem as much an act of hiding now as it did five-six-seven years ago. I begin composing the messages of cheer when I am of good cheer, but then I stop somewhere in the middle of a strangely involved sentence and decide that the story would be better left untold.
(unremembered?)
How much of my life do I want to remember, anyhow? How well do I want to remember it? Do I want to remember all the things he said and all the things she did and all the ways the rabbit was the most adorable guest we have ever had, or am I content to let my mind set aside a single strand of memory for all the little things?
Talking is pointless if there is nobody listening, and I worry that I begin to repeat myself. Repetition, it is boredom. What would I do if I bored myself? Why do I feel as though it is not a result very unlikely? How much external validation can a person crave, truly?
where is my love
horses galloping
bring him to me
I worry about being a lonely broken person with no one to love her.
It's strange to see that I have withdrawn into my shell again. Strange perhaps because it does not seem as much an act of hiding now as it did five-six-seven years ago. I begin composing the messages of cheer when I am of good cheer, but then I stop somewhere in the middle of a strangely involved sentence and decide that the story would be better left untold.
(unremembered?)
How much of my life do I want to remember, anyhow? How well do I want to remember it? Do I want to remember all the things he said and all the things she did and all the ways the rabbit was the most adorable guest we have ever had, or am I content to let my mind set aside a single strand of memory for all the little things?
Talking is pointless if there is nobody listening, and I worry that I begin to repeat myself. Repetition, it is boredom. What would I do if I bored myself? Why do I feel as though it is not a result very unlikely? How much external validation can a person crave, truly?
where is my love
horses galloping
bring him to me
I worry about being a lonely broken person with no one to love her.
1 comment:
wuv you.
cheer up.
ma
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