2004-08-17
(and you can't stop me from falling apart...)
hearing: Belong - Remy Zero
reading: Candide and Other Stories by Voltaire
feeling: weary
I was so sure. Not that that made me happy, on the contrary, it plunged me into the blackest night. I wrote pages and pages about the dark, black despair I was stumbling through. Lamenting the loss...the emptiness which voided my heart... the loss of my only shaft of sunlight...the sudden weights pulling me down...far out of the sky where I had been soaring...
But...this is just it's dying cry right? These are just its last efforts at saving itself?
I feel as though I am a flower and my feelings the petals. Each being plucked while the cruel voice of fate mocks me over my head, chanting she loves him, she loves him not, she loves him, she loves him not and then she hisses at me and reminds me what a selfish wench I am. And whenever she notices that I have the pattern figured out, and know how its going to end, she twists her fingers and the petals are replenished and renumbered.
Fate...oh fate...I have spent every spare second I have cursing you. Cursing the hapless paths you lead me down. Cursing your cruelty which I cannot fathom.
My sense whispers little optimisms of reason to counteract my irreverant railing, but I hardly listen. I know what's right, I know my answers, but I still wish to curse the earth on which fate has brought me.
I am wheeling and twisting in her hands. Stretching and crying and breaking. Where shall I be flung? Where shall she fling my heart? When can we (fate and I) be done?
What is destined? Are the stars I have been wishing on with every fibre of my being going to grant my wishes?
On an unrelated note, I love when people think they're clever and discreet. Because they aren't. It is so easy to be more clever than that pretentious behavior.
Take my brother for instance. My brother is constantly guilty of attempting to sneak up on me, but I can sense his presence, I can hear his step, and I can see his reflection in the mirror by my desk. My observation skills may not be much, but they are more than enough to detect this foolishness. And I dart my eyes at the mirror, and shoot fire at his reflecton. He laughs, I growl, and he trots off, unsuccessful in his attempts to outwit me again. It may not be that hard to do, but he is going about it all the wrong way. And it's just so amusing.
Of course, when a person is discreet about something, but does it, knowing and expecting that they will be caught and found out, yet they do it discreetly anyway, I like that. I feel as though I have been matched. It contains ever so slight tastes of malice and spite. The bitter tastes spark on my tongue and send shivers down my spine, as I leap to pursue the guilty party.
And I found you. neatly folds a piece of printer paper with text printed on it and slips it in a box.