It is human impulse to write our feelings in times of peril. Why do we write though? We’ll be dead and no one will read what we wrote. Is it the chance that someone may? Our need to write down our views and situations on the off chance someone will come across it? Talking or thinking about feelings doesn’t leave any physical proof. We are exhilarated by the unknown; we want people to understand us, to familiarize themselves with what we’re going through. The idea of our words living on when we’ve passed away is exciting. Everyone wants to live forever, perhaps not literally, but when we write something that is kept by others –and even if it isn’t- we live on in our words.
i don't know what it is but i cant stand you anymore. maybe because I've been with you for 6 weeks straight. then i got two weeks of freedom, glorious freedom, and it's hard to come back to living in this house, with you, with whom i now associate all the wonderful memories of arguments that you could never bare to lose, the days spent waiting at each corner for you as you lagged behind inconsiderately taking pictures.
my friend told me last night, in alcohol fuelled praise, that you were real. that she had incredible respect for you. and i just couldn't agree. you're real only in the sense that you let us know exactly what is on your mind without bothering if it upsets us. but you don't take the time to listen to me, to consider my opinions, because everything anyone else thinks is completely illogical and a waste of time. you can't grasp that you're views aren't one size fits all. they don't work for everyone; especially not me. You can't...
Comments