Jul 20, 2013 19:47
I have been thinking.
There are people similar to Gatsby out there. Holding on to a hope of a love, made so ideal and perfect, unreachable that nothing else can satisfy.
There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams - not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man can store up in his ghostly heart.
My mum says find a man who loves you more than you love him. (I do not agree.)
I recently told a friend that a woman only really needs a man who loves her. But that's incomplete or insufficient, as the friend pointed out. I realised the assumption is that - Surely, the woman must love the man too.
6 years, he said.
For the first time, I see a glimpse of Gatsby's illusion and I don't know how to deal with it.
My heart feels heavy.
affinity,
fear,
literature,
quotational,
reflections,
wornout