jofvt
The incubator of my ideas must have been broken for the last few months because I felt like I was simmering in my own thoughts without any result
Affection is this urge to protect that I feel towards things that surprise me, interest me, towards things I feel i need to protect. Could it be that my affection is dependent on the trigger of an interest in me? That I am indifferent to things that have no interest for me, that I do not know. Could it be that I am one of these people who cannot empathize with what they do not know!?
i m baffled by how he got into my life as if he was at home, how his eyes make me feel at home in myself, how the questions disappear and how between the fear i feel from losing feet and from knowing there is no going back, i ask myself why i ever had to touch ground.
The infinity of my breath takes us away and will inseminate the future generations, their very existence as much as their thoughts with the wind of today.
The idea that I might not see him again, that the words have dried out and that nothing I can say will make a difference is absolutely flipping. I am telling myself or trying to tell myself that there is no other way. That he has deprived me of the right to say or do anything about this distance between us, these miles of oceans that just run off forever in my imagination but part of me just cannot accept to be reduced to this lesser version of myself where I sit and wait for life to happen, where I sit and wait for other people to decide. The powerlessness of waiting is flipping. In some ways much more than my fears of jumping into the unknown. Of making violence to the world for what I want.
Joyous were the days when I could look out by the window and let the wind take my mind away. When my thoughts did not feel like anchors dragging the bottom of the sea, being forced away from time to time in spite of themselves behind a ship, perpetually resisting the currents of life and aging prematurely from the rust of boredom.
Tumbling down the stairs, ready for the day, not knowing what is waiting for me but trusting that whatever it is it will happen under a thunderstorm with drops dripping down my eyelids blurring the lines and wind in swirling my thoughts around.
The interesting thing about neon which is also a bit creepy is that it kind of shines from within. By itself. It doesn't merely reflect light like the rest of us do. It carries within itself a mini generator of light that only gets activated and pushes through in the darkest times.
And it was there lying on the floor. But it didn't feel like any pain until I was there watching how the space between the shattered pieces had a faint flavour of all the things I didn't believe in anymore but I was holding on to.
I wish it would spill. Spill all over me and outside of me. Like milk over flowing from the microwave when you overheat it. It is building up and becoming too much for me to bear and maybe if it would spill out I would feel less pressure, less intensity, less of this drive to do stupid shit.
writing since 2013 · 10 entries · 10 days shown up
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thoughtsspilllesswindinterestitselflightknowingwaitinghappenflippingcannotsitwaithomeaffection