(and that’s ok)
I really love when you’re being so talkative and confident because I know in that very moment, right there, you’re feeling good. That kind of adrenaline that keeps you talking and enjoying what you’re saying and your thoughts and everything about yourself. And I cherish those moments so much because I also know how rare, short and random they are.
We will never be like them, are we? Because this is just how we are. Loneliness and silence and chaos is what we’re made of… But it doesn’t matter because now we know that’s beautiful. In fact, there’s nothing more beautiful. I rather be a listener than a talker, because I can learn from everything, from everyone, from myself. And when I talk, what I say is meaningful. And when I feel, I feel deeply. I don’t want to “jump from one empty situation to another”.
I used to desperately wish I was like them.
You helped me see that I can be so much more.
(please, please, keep that always in mind…)
everything about you is precious and meaningful… every single one of your words, said and written. the most genuine of your smiles, the most awkward one, your fingers delicately, lovingly caressing the keys of a piano, your voice growling and spitting all the anger you can’t contain inside anymore. your chest moving fast because of your turbulent breathing, your sleepy eyelids and your lips slightly curled in a smile when you’re in peace, your bursts of hectic energy or when you let yourself slide in that (needed) lethargic serenity.
I can see so much of your inner self in the most insignificant things you do that sometimes I think I could spend hours and hours just looking at you, astonished by your existence. the fact that your heart is beating, your eyes are fixed on something, your brain is silently working frantically. what would I give to be able to know you, because I’m aware this is nothing but the very surface… but that’s more than enough for me to love every inch of your being, in the distance, but honestly. deeply. unconditionally.
I think that love has to do with the lack of judgement, the urge, the eagerness to understand. to feel beyond your own senses, beyond your perception. to find an inner meaning, an inner beauty, an inner value that don’t exist to be understood.
what’s judgement but our greatest self-deception. we need to feel we know, we need to feel safe. but we don’t know shit. we’re terrified to know, or simply don’t even consider there’s something else to know, that’s the truth. we come here and scratch the surface and then we’re gone. back to the universe. how the hell are we supposed to know something about anything.
I swear this consciousness of us is just an intruder in this world.
When the brimful are the unfulfilled
The ones that don’t belong
The ones that can’t belong
The ones eternally pursuing
(What? They don’t know yet)
(Will they ever know?)
The ones that don’t seem to get there
because there’s just nowhere to go
(And we know it)
“The ones who walk away from Omelas” fucked me up. And I’m glad.
Here I am, once again, a different project with the same underlying meaning: I need to put my thoughts in order and do something about myself. All I want to do is write something, anything, every single day of the year starting from today and ending on the 16th of july of 2018. I doesn’t need to be nobel prize worthy (the expectation that fucked up my other 928741948 attempts), just real. Just raw. Whatever I need to say, because I need to say a lot and I can’t cope anymore with this stupid self-censorship that harms me so bad and doesn’t let me live.
I need to prove myself I can do this and I can be consistent and just see where I am one year from now. I don’t want to be in the same place. I need to be in a different place. And words always heal and help for me. I trust you, crusty brain of mine. Don’t let me down.
Let’s see if I can put my shit together this time and don’t fail disastrously.