Did you kiss it? Ways out.
For over a year, I stopped recording. All the thoughts, seductive gestures and words exchanged.
Then I gave in, as I do too often and looked over this site. I no longer could stand the numbness of all the work I was doing. Reading over my harsh words I began living vicariously through my previous life, another previous I have grown out of. And concluded that all that had finished. Happily I am wrong. I had learnt to suppress and ignore, like all good young people do.
I have to believe there is still something romantic about my disposition that I can’t lose, some kind of modern optimism.
But then I watched a scene where she allows her eyes to sink into him, with love written all over her face. It is her vulnerability or lack of guardedness that I wish I could breath with. She was so unashamed, brave in herself. She touched him and said
“You knock my socks off.”
I want honesty in my character. Between myself and what it is that I am expecting.
I loved none of them. I looked at them all shyly and thought there was possibility with such negativity underlining it all. Love never grew or blossomed. It only inhabited in the beginning, superficially like a hangover; for the longer I stayed the less I seemed to be able to give, give up and even possibly worse, let go. I talk so courageously of pouring hearts and blazing organs but I feel no such things. Blue coats and yellow vests have become something of a uniform, something of a concrete armor. What is worse is that I watch myself complete the cycle every time. I look for ways out, moments to disappears into. I am so unsuccessful.
Then I gave in, as I do too often and looked over this site. I no longer could stand the numbness of all the work I was doing. Reading over my harsh words I began living vicariously through my previous life, another previous I have grown out of. And concluded that all that had finished. Happily I am wrong. I had learnt to suppress and ignore, like all good young people do.
I have to believe there is still something romantic about my disposition that I can’t lose, some kind of modern optimism.
But then I watched a scene where she allows her eyes to sink into him, with love written all over her face. It is her vulnerability or lack of guardedness that I wish I could breath with. She was so unashamed, brave in herself. She touched him and said
“You knock my socks off.”
I want honesty in my character. Between myself and what it is that I am expecting.
I loved none of them. I looked at them all shyly and thought there was possibility with such negativity underlining it all. Love never grew or blossomed. It only inhabited in the beginning, superficially like a hangover; for the longer I stayed the less I seemed to be able to give, give up and even possibly worse, let go. I talk so courageously of pouring hearts and blazing organs but I feel no such things. Blue coats and yellow vests have become something of a uniform, something of a concrete armor. What is worse is that I watch myself complete the cycle every time. I look for ways out, moments to disappears into. I am so unsuccessful.
posted by HT company at 13:21
2 Comments:
Sometimes we need to try out different ways of being, ways of living, ways of thinking, even ways of breathing. To hopefully find out which fits us, if any. Writing and other art allows a way to make up characters of ourself and try them on for size. This site is like your wardrobe - with all the outfits hung up. Some you probably cant believe you once wore, so still offer comfort and colour.
Great work.
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