(no subject)
I’ve already given her reasons to question her judgment of me. For the first eleven months she found me to be the most amazing of women. She was attracted to my pacifistic state. So I tried herculean to keep it that way, to keep my cool and calm. I had become my ideal self. And she made me feel like I could be the person I wanted to be, that I could be at peace with me. But that only lasts for so long. We all hurt somewhere. You find flaws in your lover and they agitate your serenity. And you show it. You sneak in a soft turmoil of eyes in a once-always and before gracious glance. Your lover acknowledges. And the most amazing woman is what you were. Your flaws are confessing. So now you’re both not as amazing as you thought each other to be. But you start to fear this. Because overall, you love a lover. She is that lover with the flaws. She is that person we all are. She is the flaws that we all are. I am the flaws we all are. You recognize your Buddhist texts. Our attractions to people are transient results of afflicted mental states. The first initial months of falling in love with someone are inaccurate hours of interest. We are the victims of the front every lover puts on at first. The fronts are our ideal selves with hints of truth. Those hints of truth we cling to. She’s clinging to mine. I cling to hers. Hints of TRUTH. Hints of TRUTH. If we can become more accustomed to acting the way they want us to then we can become those truths not as hinted hues but as bright and colorful warriors. Fighting for love. We are innately egotistical and selfish. I fight it for her. For me. For humanity. Because I do love her. And all. No one is perfect. It is the kind of ideal no one can shape to be. I wonder if she's thinking these things. I haven't a clue. But I am going to write them in this journal. And if she sees them then she'll know that I am a writer. And I can't hold my feelings back when I write. From a person, yes. From a page, no. Though posting them I don't have to do. But then the connection with the rest of the humans who read livejournals won't get the chance to feel better knowing we are all so very similar. Writing, it's all about reaching out.