Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset...
"I-hi-hi...might.
And you-hoo-hoo...might.
But neither of us dooo-uhh...
and neither of us will..."
I like that song. And I know those lines.
So I don't remember whatI was going to write, but there is something on my mind right NOW (hehe, thanks, Kelly, for that method of thinking).
Well, it's a memory. A memory that, with the winds of recents events, has been stirred up. The dust unsettled. It threw some fuel on the dying fire of my soul, I suppose. It softened my heart, something hard and cold for not a long while, I guess...
Yeah, it did this all again. It knows I don't like it either. "It?" The memory.
I keep her locked up in dreams and in my spoken words in the late nights where no one can hear. I keep her locked up with the distractions of conversation with my friends. I keep her locked up in writings and incomprehensible sketches. I keep her away in unwritten poems I refuse to write. She doesn't even exist anymore (figuratively) and she still affects what I do.
I tell people that love is bullshit at our age, lingering on memories is pointless, people are just people and more will come around. But I can't fool myself, no matter how much I try.
Her presence in my mind has grown even more poewrful since the feeling has returned, a closeness, I haven't felt in a while. Perhaps not nearly as strong, but relative. It's something vague only I could make out in this big picture.
A thought occurred to me during the day that made me want to write this. I remember thinking, "What if...people...really meet again? What if, by chance, we were to return?" Just a thought. It wasn't exactly like that. And the funny thing is this: the thought of her not being here on this earth hit me.
Stuff happens to people all the time. She would be no different, right? What if I'm lingering not only a dead memory, but a memory that doesn't exist anymore? If it's just me remembering...is it worth it? I thought about that too: does she remember me? Does she still think about me? I hardly do of her, only every once a...well, whenever.
Things seemed so unreal with her, I remember. The End Of An Era. That's what it was. Based on true events...I forgot to mention that. But I really didn't want to. I don't like the idea of her...I don't know. It would do no harm, but absolutely no use.
It's funny, I'm in almost an identical situation...but, enough of that.
I...
(sigh)...
No. I don't know. I don't blame her for anything. Anything. It seems like that needed to be said. There were no hard feelings. I blame myself for anything...or the lack of certain things, I guess. Every once in a while, with the thoughts and poems that run through my head, I find one I like. I remember it, or certain lines. Twist them, mess with them, then throw it away with a little piece of her with it. I guess that's where I picked up the habit.
When I wonder about what would've happened...man, it bugs the shit out of my mind. I get sick thinking about it, sometimes. I don't even want to anymore.
Livejournal, shut off the camera...
And you-hoo-hoo...might.
But neither of us dooo-uhh...
and neither of us will..."
I like that song. And I know those lines.
So I don't remember whatI was going to write, but there is something on my mind right NOW (hehe, thanks, Kelly, for that method of thinking).
Well, it's a memory. A memory that, with the winds of recents events, has been stirred up. The dust unsettled. It threw some fuel on the dying fire of my soul, I suppose. It softened my heart, something hard and cold for not a long while, I guess...
Yeah, it did this all again. It knows I don't like it either. "It?" The memory.
I keep her locked up in dreams and in my spoken words in the late nights where no one can hear. I keep her locked up with the distractions of conversation with my friends. I keep her locked up in writings and incomprehensible sketches. I keep her away in unwritten poems I refuse to write. She doesn't even exist anymore (figuratively) and she still affects what I do.
I tell people that love is bullshit at our age, lingering on memories is pointless, people are just people and more will come around. But I can't fool myself, no matter how much I try.
Her presence in my mind has grown even more poewrful since the feeling has returned, a closeness, I haven't felt in a while. Perhaps not nearly as strong, but relative. It's something vague only I could make out in this big picture.
A thought occurred to me during the day that made me want to write this. I remember thinking, "What if...people...really meet again? What if, by chance, we were to return?" Just a thought. It wasn't exactly like that. And the funny thing is this: the thought of her not being here on this earth hit me.
Stuff happens to people all the time. She would be no different, right? What if I'm lingering not only a dead memory, but a memory that doesn't exist anymore? If it's just me remembering...is it worth it? I thought about that too: does she remember me? Does she still think about me? I hardly do of her, only every once a...well, whenever.
Things seemed so unreal with her, I remember. The End Of An Era. That's what it was. Based on true events...I forgot to mention that. But I really didn't want to. I don't like the idea of her...I don't know. It would do no harm, but absolutely no use.
It's funny, I'm in almost an identical situation...but, enough of that.
I...
(sigh)...
No. I don't know. I don't blame her for anything. Anything. It seems like that needed to be said. There were no hard feelings. I blame myself for anything...or the lack of certain things, I guess. Every once in a while, with the thoughts and poems that run through my head, I find one I like. I remember it, or certain lines. Twist them, mess with them, then throw it away with a little piece of her with it. I guess that's where I picked up the habit.
When I wonder about what would've happened...man, it bugs the shit out of my mind. I get sick thinking about it, sometimes. I don't even want to anymore.
Livejournal, shut off the camera...