*Two roads diverged in a yellow wood*
In my story, it's only one road winding in a yellow wood. Step after step, together, until sometimes, this little pinch in my heart reminds me that everything is not that easy.
I am reminded that we're two in this, and who says two people says two opinions and two different views on things. Sometimes to paths diverging to merge back again?
I am reminded that the challenge of love is to walk on the same path, even when the paces are different. I am reminded that sometimes I need to slow down and be patient. And that sometimes you have to hurry and make that extra step.
Rare reader, hello, it's been a while. How are you?
I walk on a golden road, into peaceful woods. While my body is going forward, tonight my mind has been thrown back two years ago, into old times of uncertainity. I am not there myself, but I relive that feeling that I actually had forgotten. Long gone. And it only confirms my impression that in recent times I have taken us for granted. Taken us for a certainity, a truth that no one could counter or alter. No even ourselves.
And as per usual, Mr. So-much-wiser-then-he-thinks just put me back to my right place. In desperate lover land. Not voluntarily, I think. But as diner times always conveniently happen when we reach the heart of the matter, you never know. Too many coincidences make me believe this is all planned, and beautifully orchestred. I just hope you're a puppet like me, and not the master.
I walk on a golden road, onto the peaceful woods of desperate lover land. I trip on a golden nugget and bite the dust. I get up and look around, wondering how did I not see this one coming? Then I remember my old blindness, my unreasonable infatuation. I remember the stumbles and the scratched knees, the running nose and puffy eyes. Then I remember what it all lead to. I remember it is all worth it.
And even though it's kinda sore, I smile. I fell and won't be able to run for a while. It gives you a chance to catch up and carry me.
Be a shoulder to lean on, as you've always been.
I smile but it hurts.
It hurts but I smile.
*The DJ's girl*
I stand, looking up at the blearing speakers, feeling your music in my pulse.
I know each reason behind a song, every hope you put in the next tune. I know how much the moment you hit play matters and how the second of stand by makes your heart sink before the party agrees with your choice and picks up the words.
I know how you lead the crowd at the tip of your fingers, your headphones half-on half-off, you double yourself in here and out there, sharing the vibe with the crowd while anticipating their next moves, the ones you will set and encapsulate in a song.
Like the master of puppets, you get all these broken bodies to move along, to jump, jump higher, and shout. I think they believe they’re singing, but they shout, shout along to the music, while you prepare your next move. Your little smile is the only trace of pride for your skillful ballet supervision. And sometimes you enter the game yourself, and dive into the pulse of the night, into that eddy current of sound swirling in the room you have created.
I stand in the middle. Sometimes I let myself go with the flow and bring my body to the beat you impose. Always, always I remember that I am only right here right now thanks to you. And always, I try to look my best, to dance my best, to make you proud.
I stand in the middle of the crowd, looking up at you, feeling your music in my pulse. You smile to me and I smile back, knowing that for every prettier girl laying their eyes on you, you only have yours on me. So I shine brighter, I grow taller, I sing louder. I try to be the one you’d want to be with if we didn’t know each other. I relive the thrill of beginnings and the lust of first times. And I pride myself in being the DJ’s girl.
I am looking forward to the next gig.
My only regret is that I don’t get to dance with you, so I dance for you.
*Puddle*
I forgot the burn of crying eyes. I forgot the releasing pain you feel when you close your eyes after having cried.
I want to forget again. I haven't been down in so long, I don't want to fall again.
I'm sorry.
I will fight.
*Where The Path Leads Me*
I seem to lack words. Or maybe time.
But I write when I am upset, and I seem to be doing ok.
Still softly and truly in love. Finding a way through life and work and adult serious stuff. Wondering a bit where tomorrow should happen. Where I should make it happen.
And we still don't know why sparrows love the snow.
But I do love automn and winter. The cold nights are more reassuring then bright lights. Warm winter houses are more welcoming than wet mild summer days.
I look back, and I look ahead, and sometimes I get dizzy.
So I just hold your hand and keep walking.
*Come By The Sea*
It's hard to put into words.
It is a feeling that goes with a background of sandy shores, of low hills covered of sea grass battered by the wind. Blue-grey waves are rushing lazily. It is rather cold, and the wind is blowing from the ocean on my right cheek. Somewhere nearby, it is raining, and I can feel a few drops on my face.
It is a feeling that is both in my mind and in my body. I'm alone and I think of you. And suddenly I can feel you beside me. I can feel your warm hand holding mine. I can feel your body protecting mine from the wind blowing as you walk by, slightly in my back.
It is a feeling that has its own body, its own essence. It is the air between my jacket and my jumper. It will the chill up my spine. It is the tears I'm fighting against.
It is this feeling that a minute can destroy. How badly I want to look back to see if you're actually there. How badly I want to discretly turn my head, just a little bit, to get a glance of you. And inside I know that I musn't, because doing so will make it all stop.
I never feel so lonely than when I could swear you're with me. As if absence was crystallized into a draining presence, a black whole that pumps all my energy, all my joy.
It is a feeling I mainly, if not only, feel when I back home in Brittany. Ireland is you, and you are Ireland. Being away from one or another makes me uncomfortable. I am not sure what that implies and maybe I'll regret saying that later. But I wrote it spontaneously and I know, deep inside, I know it is true and that I'm just pretending otherwise. When I'm away from Ireland, I feel homesick, I feel out of place and unwanted. When I'm away from you, I feel homesick, I feel out of place and unwanted. A passerby in my own motherland. A stranger on both shores.
Home is where the heart is, and you know where that is.
*Sometimes A Song Say It All*
I guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all
Very true indeed.
*How Did You Know?*
- D. ...?
- I love you too, Marianna.
You provoqued a heartquake.
When I asked how you knew I was going to say that, you simply answered that you were feeling, and thinking the same at this same exact moment.
It comforted me in my thought that we often "say" our love to each other in other ways than words and that when I thinking I should say it but don't in fear to sound fake, or to be redundant, you actually are thinking the same thing. You know what I mean?
I often hang on to your lips in expectation to hear "the three words". And hearing them, in your rare, chosen moments, always moves me as much as the first time. So I stop myself from saying it everytime my light, versatile, love-giving brain wants me to. And only say it when I deeply mean it, hoping that it moves you too when you hear it.
You proved, once again, that you're wiser than you let show, and much wiser that I am aware of. I seem to forget it. But you were right, saying it too often decreases its meaning, until, maybe, it doesn't mean anything anymore. As if a relationship is through when a certain number of empty, shallow "I love you"s have been thrown in the air, at the end of every phone call, on the way to work every morning, or after every kiss.
I don't care if it sounds pretentious,
I like to think we're better than that.
*If I Go*
I will be looking for your hand in the crowd, like an island in an ocean of bodies.
And you better not let go.
*One Week Later*
Swing. Swing, swang, swung. And swing again.
Dreams on ecstasy, body harmony and rested souls.
Homemade rasberry cheesecake and True Blood.
We didn't have such a time to ourselves in a while. I really, really enjoyed it. I missed it, too. Turns out that when I was in Dublin and we only had a chance to see each other on weekends, we'd always make sure to make the most of it. Now our visits are a bit more casual. So these 48 hours of intensity were like a little gem. A precious little memory I will keep within me.
Productivity? None. But it feels so damn good to be lazy with you.
*Time Doesn't Stop. Thank God.*
250th post.
Here has been the scene of all my drama in all its wilderness and without any restraint. And it shall continue this way I suppose. Like a bucket of tears, better put them there than spilling them around. Better put all these emotions in letters, words and sentences and leave them here to rest. Let it scar, after a while it won't hurt anymore, even if you can still feel it.
It feels unfair, so unfair. That I'm not even angry. I just feel empty, and betrayed. Because I had expectations, and beliefs that turn out to be wrong. Bad timing, unlucky circumstances. And you choosing the worst time ever for wanting a night by yourself.
I can't believe you won't come over. I just cannot believe it. I wonder how we can a such different level. On two opposite planets on both sides of the sun. All I needed was to be with you, and I know I would have calmed down, I would have been better so quickly, a few minutes, an hour maybe. Now the bitterness is in me and won't leave again. Even when I'll get better after a night of sleep. Like the venom of a wasp, that stays in your blood for your whole life after it stung you. And when the next wasp stings, it adds up to what was there before. I don't have the power to put things aside and move on like you do. I suppose I should be grateful that you can. But you should be worried that I can't.
I walked in my house and heard voices and thought you were there. You weren't. Then for every person walking up the stairs I hoped it was you. It wasn't. I hope you will never have to feel that kind of disappointment. But on the another hand I hope you do. Still think you're missing something important here. Something that sounds like 'love doesn't come without pain'. Maybe it's just... "I might not be the right one, this might not be the right time".
I feel like love should make people feel and act a certain way, and I'm not sure you're there yet. Maybe I'm wrong. Prove me I'm wrong.
I started bitting my nails again last Friday. Did you notice?