A Song for Myself
Listening to this song reminds me of girls I have loved. I never knew what Amara wanted, nor what Vera saw in her photos, nor how to impress Ellie. I daydream about times when I was close to them. About furtive, meaningless glances across the gymnasium. About a first kiss that like wine was not altogether unpleasant yet was beyond me to appreciate. About the night I should have learned that I did not know how to make a girl happy.
I think about Vera the most. It was not that I was in love with her but out of everyone I wanted her to remember me. By then I had dismantled the mechanisms that surround love and I have carried it with me, unadorned and ineffectual, because one day I might find use for it again. Vera is special to me because, to me, she was not caught in the currents that pull us everyday towards the vast, unquantifiable end wherein we lose ourselves. I have to ask myself what I fear in this. What special need is there to remember oneself? Perhaps I am just specially afraid of losing myself, what I have of myself. Anyways, Vera saw something in her photos that I saw too. However, I cannot say what it is. But it was sufficient for her to cling to. The same as I find these words myself enough sometimes. I have yet to ask her what it is that I saw but could not describe, limited as I am to the explicit meanings of words. I can't say she can explain but she will know better than I ever could the wonderous meaning of her photos.
And now I do not love. Whether I am wiser or more wary, I have decided that I must improve myself before I can have a romantic relationship. I feel that it would be difficult for a girl to be involved with someone who is as much nothing as I am. And to a degree it pains me less to be alone now than when I was younger. It is just that this song makes me wistful.
I think about Vera the most. It was not that I was in love with her but out of everyone I wanted her to remember me. By then I had dismantled the mechanisms that surround love and I have carried it with me, unadorned and ineffectual, because one day I might find use for it again. Vera is special to me because, to me, she was not caught in the currents that pull us everyday towards the vast, unquantifiable end wherein we lose ourselves. I have to ask myself what I fear in this. What special need is there to remember oneself? Perhaps I am just specially afraid of losing myself, what I have of myself. Anyways, Vera saw something in her photos that I saw too. However, I cannot say what it is. But it was sufficient for her to cling to. The same as I find these words myself enough sometimes. I have yet to ask her what it is that I saw but could not describe, limited as I am to the explicit meanings of words. I can't say she can explain but she will know better than I ever could the wonderous meaning of her photos.
And now I do not love. Whether I am wiser or more wary, I have decided that I must improve myself before I can have a romantic relationship. I feel that it would be difficult for a girl to be involved with someone who is as much nothing as I am. And to a degree it pains me less to be alone now than when I was younger. It is just that this song makes me wistful.