Friendship, impossible love?

So is this what you call friendship? Somewhere half between talking and not talking, caring and not caring. I could do without.

Maybe your definition of friendship differs vastly from mine, but is a friend still a friend whom you do not see, is not eager to see you? Is a friend still a friend whom you rarely talk to? Is a friend still a friend when you have no ties left, but just because you deem him to be so? I think not.

I digress, I was just fine without talking to you, I had come to terms with it. But you drag me back here and I can never understand why. You start, and do not follow through. You spark the fire, and leave me to fan it. My turn is long since over. It is yours.

I always pray for the strength, to walk away; always pray for guidance, to know what to do. But I cannot answer my prayers, my internal monologue evades me. Do you deserve a frosty reception similar to your own, or being deceived to hurt both you and your mate? Revenge sounds sweet but I am not vindictive.

If there were some reason for your less than enthusiastic behaviour, I would like to think that you could be honest with me, but you only deny the feelings which constantly bother me. Which makes it worse. Who knows what drives you ? or what goes on inside your head, because you will not tell me anymore. I almost succeed in refusing to let this bother me. Almost.

“This is my last call to you

Then I'll give up everything

That we had, that we'd do

And you'll never hear me sing

All these songs about you

So just take this time and think

Just take this time and think”
Plain White T’s

...“For the warrior, there is no such thing as an impossible love” Paulo Coelho

Ramblings on being second best # 36261117

I say TV is (for the most part), a waste of my time, and pointless. But every now and again I'll be watching some show or the other and something will make me think. Tonight it was a girl leaving, and her best guy friend (who has a girlfriend) getting sad as they said goodbye.

My brother complained that he loved her..
My mother said that he did not!
I commented that he did love her, and his girlfriend: But then paused, and added that, he just happened to love his girlfriend more - Which everyone agreed with, and my mother further commented that she was right in leaving, after all, why should she suffer being second best?

So it isn't a surprise that this made me think, it isn't a surprise that the girl reminded me of [a stronger version of] myself.

I have to stop tolerating boys just because they love me. Sometimes their love alone, isn't enough. Sometimes you don't need just to be loved, you need to be loved the most.

So I seek to find in myself the strength to stop returning to the boys who have loved me, maybe still do. Because I need to realise, that if they loved me the most, they wouldn't be apart from me in the first place. For the most part.

Great. Now someone please tell my heart that.

First thoughts on liars

It bothers me, not just that you are not a hundred percent honest, but that you won't be a hundred percent honest with me, if I should ask you.

It is always left undecided, whether lying by ommission is still a lie - I cannot stand a liar.

I can put words in your mouth, and you will agree. Because you love me or want me to love you? Your excuses are weak.

If I expect too much, it is because you have trained me to expect this. Then, am I to blame?

---

Sometimes I am shocked, at what people conceal - sometimes I never find out, and could never imagine. And, yes, there could be reasons for your actions which you do not always wish to share. I should know this.

Is it that people are less honest than me, because for some reason I cannot conceal things unecessarily? Or is it that it seems so weird to me because I cannot conceive that which is being concealed. I am always scared of that which I do not know that I do not know.

Honesty has always seemed the best path for me, have you been raised differently? Why do some people lie when they don't need to: because it comes naturally? Because it is a way of life? A habit? Fun?

It varies in degrees, but in any form, I know that I could not live with a liar. It worries me not to know the full truth, or at least think that I do. I just need the security.

On contact..

In order to move forward in life, to progress, to evolve.. something must change, must it not? It is so easy to hope that meeting someone new can spiral off a chain of events similar to that which you hope for: in my case not so silently and secretly sometimes.

However, there are god knows how many people in this vast world, and reflecting on this fact, it upsets me to realise how few we will make contact with. And contact, what do we classify as contact?

A smile: You walked past and caught my eye, my lips betrayed a hesitance to smile, which you caught and threw back at me in full-toothed glory. You went, you came back, you went again, mouthing "goodbye", topped with another. Will I ever see you again?

A hello, a short conversation: Common needs brought us together for a few moments and we ended up talking. I don't think either of us remember what about, but it did not matter, we were lost within each others projections. You reminded me of someone I would like to know, to keep around, but I knew that saying goodbye meant I would possibly not see you again. But I could not keep you for too long, and whether or not the same realisation was encapsulated within you, it did not matter. Because it ended with goodbye.

Contact can't only be either of these, or similar interactions - for we do not live in the village communities of old, where habit brings us to the same places, the same people, day after day. So such contact can and will probably be once-off - then what can we do to change it, to make it twice-off? Social akwardness born of social expectations govern us. And we know not who dares to break the mould, so we do not break it ourselves.

Questions, I can give you questions. But answers I struggle for.

Again, on lacking eloquence.

In seeking to eliminate thought-pain, I hope that my thoughts have not disappeared completely, for often it has struck me that those who write the best, think the best - the best being synonymous to most unique. And these unique writers, are the ones who are tortured by such unique thoughts.

Operating backwards however, I could not say that those who are tortured by their thoughts are necessarily good at communicating them. I suffer now in that I seem to think clearly, but struggle to logically communicate my clear thoughts, often sitting and reading what I have written only to wonder if anyone existing outside of my own head could appreciate it.

Forgive me, I look not for reassurance nor consolance, though some pseudo-version of me would have such things. I merely seek to understand how, having eliminated my unbearable thought-pain, I may keep my unique thoughts. I hope, that this will will not lead me to understand that there is no externalisation to be had of thoughts which you do not contain, and indeed no beauty without pain.

And, if this is the only conclusion to be drawn from such a path of thinking, would I sacrifice my calmness of mind back to the thought-devil, if he would return my eloquence?

I still feel this, and so it still pours out from me.

If I did not feel this, here would not lie the stain.

And so this will stain, and pour,

Until I feel this no more.

I cannot bear the thought

That one day you will love her more than you love me

Saying No

There is only so many times a person can say 'No'
Before the person who hears that 'No'
Neglects to offer again.


"To love makes one solitary, she thought"
Mrs Dalloway

Words of my life #2

"Your personality, so complex, so unique, so random, there seems to be no pattern or logic.

You can imagine how frustrating to a computing engineer.

I dunno whether I'm scoring with you or pissing you off.

My intention is not to piss you off by the way, despite our rather... err fiery interactions."

Words of my life

"Afterwards, I asked myself why I'd do something like that and it's basically because I love you and I wanted to change your mind so that you don't have to do those things."

---

I want to say again, that I love you

and that I don't think now, that i can be without you

Selfish, or not, I surmise it does not mattter what I want.

For you, you do not listen. Not anymore.

I do not know what changed, or what you are angry at me for.

Am I more selfish, for not wanting to give you to another?

I do not mind, but I do fear, that one day

I will change and want to be your lover.

Is my worry that you will leave, or push me away?

Even though you promise me different

Stories scare me

And you, you upset me.

Though I would not see you cry for it.

If you, yourself, do not know.

What is confusing you so,

How am I to guess the cause of the turmoil I see through your farce

Or not farce, but temporary bliss

That will fall apart again when you eat her kisses

And have her whole

And leave me incomplete

For I cannot speak to you, at the end of every week

She starts your weekends

And you send, me away

And days later, you pay

It is not my intention to make you suffer

For my discomfort or stubborness

I apologise in advance

But unlike you, I can't hold up the farce.

So maybe I should leave.

They say they always choose

But I cannot stand to lose

But it is not your choice I fear

It is your emptyness, all the while that you are here

And your suspicions when you leave

And all the headaches that I don't need

Although I wished for drama.

So if I push you away and you do not leave

Am I to blame for wanting you so close always

Or for trying to force you to stay

The one time you are unwilling?

And better, for her not to write

Lest what she feel resurface

But months had passed,

And all her fight,

It had been murdered.

And Yes, the Loneliness,

It can get to you.

But what would you sacrifice

To feel like you used to?

.

I thought that I did,

But I didn't want you.

Or anything you can give.

Oh ! you give me nothing!

.

And falling, her words caught her
Like a net of black, and woven
She landed, and crawled under
Dark cold alleyways
Looking for light
Not realising
She had lost her sight
And she crawled in open fields
Thinking the heat she felt
Must surely be flames
The sun, through a magnifying glass
Becomes far less tame.

Isn't it sad to know someone's lips

better than you know their brain?

"Because all suffering is sweet to me"

Saint Thérèse

"Ever feel like someone is better off without you,

because you can't give them what they need?"

Your mind.

"I am a bad person Leila,
My mind is a horrible place."

Here, belly down
Watching one more tear roll down
Your over-used cheek

What can I tell you
Seeing you hurt so kills me
That I assess every idea you tell me
Against my own
And choose what's best for you
That I cannot tell you this

My perfection eats away at you
Did I not ever feel like you do
I try to explain to you that out of every hundred thoughts
You may know two.
That I did not teach you how to draw.
Two minutes ago you said you did not remember.

My name, with resentment, spewed from your lips
It's all I can do not to cry
But itching my eye I feel mine tooIs moist.

That in your moments of emptiness
All I would do is help you be whole again
But I have no idol to introduce you to

You believe not that which I admit to you
Or think I would mock you
I would not

My heart, it bleeds,
Less for the memories of my tortured head
And more for yours now
Though I will not agree with your confessions of insanity
Or lack of a heart.
I gave so much to you
Where is it all now?

You sit, cross-legged
Preaching to me
But Mr. Hyde, has he gone?
Mr Jekyll remains, or some cold, mean hearted version of him.
You say you can't help it
I have seen you at your worst.
I cry for you but won't let you see it

Watch what I say? - How dare you try save me
When you cannot save yourself?

I realise that more than you realise,
have become like me
Oh, you want to help
You want to preach
You cannot listen.
Heaven forbid I am the same,
To some superior being
I tell you to wait, wait
But I, at you age, I could not.

Scorn, pouring from your fingertips
Issuing slaps, you push
Me and everyone else away
But I push my way back in
If shouting got my message across
If anything did
This would be different
Not this, again and again and again

"Clash. Do you believe that?"
No, I don't.
I don't believe that we aren't meant to get along.
I do not know everything,
You would or would not have me.
It varies, it differs not.

I try, constantly, to see inside your head.
I would understand,
My own little case study,
My tortured genius
I envy you somewhat,
My voices have died.
My twenty years swallowed my inconsistency
And I sit here stable, listening to your monotone.
Your voice that drives me mad,
Your words that I can't stand.
I can't talk to you when you're like this.

"I don't know who I am"
Did you really think someone would save you?
I cannot, and I care most - is this true?
Maybe there's something wrong with our head
Maybe you're stupid
But you throw old statements back and back again
Let it go?

So.
The other night you told me
There are angels, in people.
Angels, sent by God.
Tonight you took back your words.
I am more than just a good person.
Though you say that is all.

The dark entrails of your mind,
Strewn here on the floor
Bare floorboards, where did you find them?
Cold and black, they scare me
I see why they scare you
But I, I must feign courage
For you who has none right now.

It exhausts me
Wading through your laments
Dispelling your mental problems
Where you think I will not listen
It is my duty to oppose.
You think I think I am better
I just want you to be happy
And not empty.

Float, float on
If you are not a angel
What are you, that floats?
I do not fear what you fear.

One thousand names for this condition.
But seeing you snap
Is something I hate experiencing
Dealing with your two parallel worlds
Tiptoeing around your black world and black sister
What do I say to her,
When she turns my heart stone.

"I think I'm scared of the dark"

All i want

Okay, let me write to you and tell you all it is that I want.

All that I want. be it selfish or not. For it to be here and manifest before my eyes, for me to see it and train my subconscious to bring this to me. Make my desires true. Because a stated dream is a dream half caught, isn’t it?

When you feel the lack, then you must know that you want what you seem to be lacking. If this is true I have found my wants, so clearly. In moments of despair they seem unachievable, far, far away, unrealistic. As though this lack could not be filled. And I know I have holes which I deem only to be fillable by certain objects, certain beings, certain places. I am filled with these holes, heaven forbid they should be fatal.

“and then suddenly it struck me how I had nowhere to be, noone to be with. I suddenly felt alone, irrationally (I see that now) but immensely, immediately, heart-achingly alone.
I felt like crying (I did, a wee bit), I wanted to be surrounded by people, lots of people. Old people. new people, exciting people, people who I still had to get to know, anyone, everyone. Instead though, I had no one

..And I saw my future span out just the same. Me, bored with life, the long, lonely, empty days. For the rest of university, for the rest of work.. for the rest of ever, forever..”

People, faces, voices, thoughts, sights, the wind, the sky, the grass, the hills, they all make their holes.

Your face, your voice, your words.

“I know, its not even true now. But in that moment it's all I truly believed in.

I managed to shake it.
but its still there, lurking.

I was just looking through the photos of my holiday and I realised I want to be in the mountains, on the farms, under the trees, in the hills, by the streams, running with the goats... you get my point. I realise I’m just like my grandad, a free spirit”

So some small idea of what it is, that and a lover to brave the cold wind with, watch the million stars with, climb the hills with. I want.

I don't want to tell you, I don't think I should.
But I want you to guess.

Ever get the feeling, that it isn't enough.



A certain situation is missing something?

An incomplete, uncomfortable feeling inside?

Like there should be a next step, a next level...



But you don't know what it is that would complete it?

I know, that everything that happens to me is my lesson, a lesson. It's just sometimes I can't see the trees for the forest. It's hard to remove myself, dissociate and observe what's happening to me from another perspective. I find that extremely difficult.

x

I suppose that it is normal to feel as though you don't know what to feel, don't know what to think, how to react..

I don't like being normal.

d

I just know now that this game has had its day, and I'm sick of making excuses for it. As much as I revel in the confusion and the drama, I think it's high time I stopped seeking it out. Or do a 'Demartini' and re-assess my priorities. Which is all very well to say, but pushing 'relationships' down to a lower rung on my priorities ladder isn't as easy as talking about doing it is, it is a stubborn demand, and my head has one million rational reasons why it is the most important.

.

I don't know, I feel a bit out of control of my life, like suddenly it's going in a direction I didn't entirely intend it to, and it's travelling fast.. Is this what turning twenty does to you? Or have I lost sight of what life is about? What is life about? Because if I really want to shift my priorities I need to stop answering "Love" to that question.

.

i just want to feel in control, like I have time on my side, my whole life ahead of me, not that there's a risk the rest of my life might be directionless and mundane, every day running into the next.

.

I've never felt so scared, and that in itself scares me more.