I had a little trinket, several in fact, which I sent off in a letter to a good friend.
A letter written by my hand, signed and sealed with trinkets I knew quite well.
I can imagine the trinkets. One of them shall I dwell on. I know the curls, the glint and shine, every crease, every tear...it was my own. I wore it, I knew it.
But now it's sent off. Far away.
It's not that I miss it though. On the contrary, I am still glad I sent it. But to think of it gone, is so very bizarre.
Something I know the shape and twist of so well, is going to fall into the hands of someone I can only imagine. A trinket so real to me, is going to be recieved by someone so...unreal...surreal...to me.
But the trinket I knew, shifts and turns the situation. It sheds new light. Its a real thing to me, and its not going to be annihilated just because its out of my sight and touch. Its going to go be real somewhere else. And the thought of it being real, with someone who hadn't seemed quite so to me, makes the person seem more starkly real.
But then the clashing.
I can call to my mind the trinket. Its look, its flash, its glare, but I cannot conjure up the turn of the hand it sits in, the glint of the eye which gazes on it, the flash of the smile as it is contemplated. I have not seen those.
And it frustrates me that I haven't, that I can't. I want to...so bad...
And there are no "grazy" purposes involved (since I have admitted to confusion in the past, I am constantly haunted by the fear that some of my actions of late seem like some sort of relapse. Especially that letter. Darn. I know that it is nothing of that sort, nothing of those sort of feelings motivate any of this, but they could so easily be interpreted that way. I feel the need to constantly clarify my actions now. I don't, but its what I feel I need to do. There is nothing more here, in this, in the letter, in anything, than should be. I promise). Its just that I know the voice; I know, in part, the character, the personality, the faults, the weaknesses, the strengths. I want affirmation that its real. I want something I can see, and hear, and touch.
And it seems so close, yet so very far. I can send a letter. I can send trinkets, and to think that those can go, so easily, and I can't. I can't. I can only sit and send. Sit and cry in frustration. Because I am tired of it being quarantined away in surreality from me and my reality by a thin curtain of mist. I want it to be real. Real...to me...
I was also pondering the saying on the graphic Cyrik showed me in response to the last entry, "I am the closest thing to perfection, but the farthest thing from me".
Honestly, it took me aback on close reflection. It really made me think and consider.
Megan, has always, in my mind, equalled perfection. I was always supposed to be the epitome of perfection, in every way and shape of myself. But i have always fallen short of that. Megan has always been associated with perfect, but she has never actually perfect. Every time she's tried, she's failed. Yet she still believes she is supposed to be nothing but perfection. It isn't her by nature, but it will be her through work. Because its the only thing she can be. Anything less, is not enough.
But I need to grow out of that mindset. I am not perfect, and certainly not inherently, and that has been proved to me numerous times. So why can't I get the word around to all of myself. I am not perfect, I can't be, and I don't have to be.
This crummy feeling girl with a bad sore throat is off then, but she must say, that she has heard rumour that a "public service announcement" regarding marriage might be coming soon to take over a diary day. Whatever that bodes. We shall see. No furthering questioning can be accepted. Especially since this announcecment may be cancelled. Just keep your eyes peeled.
(Oh btw, my playlist is up now)