Okay.. here we go.
I woke up every morning looking for perspective. Literally. The moment I opened my eyes, my mind would race to find the day's perspective. Would I be a go-getter today? Or, as usual, procrastinate until I found that I wasn't really putting off anything. Except life. Then, discouraged that I had no real path I was following, I simply allowed myself to become lazy. It was then that I would adopt the perspective of being okay with the nothingness my life had become, because eventually, maraculously, it would become something. Some day.
Basically, what I'm trying to say is, I chose perspective to fit my needs. My perspective wasn't that of true beliefs, but was forced upon myself so that I wouldn't feel completely lost. My daily perspectives were coping mechanisms, to say the least.
Today, I woke up viewing life as something of endless possibilities. It was motivating enough to get me out of bed. To drink a cup of coffee, and look outside the kitchen windows with a faint glint of hope. It also sent me later crawling towards the couch, overwhelmed by choices. Which way to go? What to choose? Is wrong and right really black and white? And how to tell the difference? What the hell was I doing with my life?
I resolved that nothing was better than something, however illogical that may seem. I couldn't start anywhere, afraid that it would lead to something I never wanted; to a miserable existance. But what did I call this?
At the age of 21, you'd think the world would seem exciting, open-ended, and completely mine for the taking. Instead, I was terrified, immobilized. I didn't want to plan out my life because that seemed even more depressing than not knowing. Even though I knew plans never really worked out the way you invisioned, I didn't want to summarize my life. At the end of every story, you die. So to know my story, was to know my death... or so I thought.
However having no plan drove me to the brink of insanity. I felt as though I was floating. And not in the mystical, hippy version, where life is surrounding you and you just go with it. No. Nothing like that. I was floating in a mundane, unhappy, unfulfilling, completely unextraordinary life. And the saddest part of it all, was I was the one to blame. I refused to pick up the pieces of my life, and build something out of them. I was afraid. I was afraid to really care about anything, in case it proved to just disappoint, like so many other things in my life thus far. I was afraid, I think, to let myself be happy. Or to challenge myself because I couldn't face failure.
I think a big part of this was that I wanted to keep dreaming. I wanted nothing to do with real life. I wanted to keep coming up with awesome ways of life for myself, well thought out plans for the future. It all sounded so good to say out loud, or to just scrap out in my head. But making no real movement towards these dreams, they stayed just that. Dreams. Wonderful dreams. I was afraid I'd go and fuck them up, turn them into nightmares.
I want to write a story.
About the attention that everyone seeks, even the "loners" who claim not to care.
About the characters we are & the one's we make ourselves into.
About obvious insecurities.
About "posing for pictures that aren't being taken".
About how so many people have underlying intentions, that the genuine people of the world get mistaken for phonies.
About why emotionally unavailable people are considered a more attractive, and stronger presence than that of an optimist.
About how people get caught up in self-pity, wallowing, and complaining.
About how happiness is sometimes a much more fearsome concept than sadness.*
About the constant inner struggle: how we feel we must be two people to be one.
*Emphasize on bitter people who have been through far less than certain optimists.
She waves us on encouragingly
We trust this
We roll on
I'm enjoying the sunshine
Hand out window
I look to my left
To share the moment
They are approaching fast
Panic floods the mind
Seeps into limbs
I turn away, I won't watch this
We are still
I look to my friend once more
Letting out breath we've been holding
We are still here
She felt completely ridiculous in his presence. After all these years, the boy could still make her feel like she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. With her hands, her eyes, her mouth. She found she could barely look him in the eyes, and when she did, she was even more disturbed to find that it always caught her off guard; even though they were in the middle of a conversation. If you could call her rambling, and his patient words inbetween, a conversation. She could feel herself acting a fool the whole while she was doing it, but it was beyond her power to control it. Everytime she'd slap herself mentally, she'd do something else worth punishment.
She wanted him to go away. Leave her sight, so she could regain composure. But he wouldn't. He'd stare too long. He'd smirk just so. He'd say something on the verge of being an asshole, and just when she'd think she could use this to dismiss him, he'd say something else. Something sweet, something sincere, something funny. Always something true. He was so real. Yet, she couldn't figure him out for the life of her. She felt there was always something else behind his comments, his looks, that he wasn't sharing with the rest of the world. That he never really would.
He had this arrogant way about him. Like he understood something the rest of us common folk didn't. But, at the same time, you could intrigue him with the simplest gesture or comment. It all depended on his mood. And he had so many of them. And they changed so quickly that you could see several shades of him in one conversation. But just as you'd begin to understand the first, it was gone, leaving you doubting...curious.
He flirted almost uncontrollably, but controlled. He'd massage her good friend right in front of her. His hands would move about the girl's shoulders with intentional pressure and ease, all the while casually conversating. He'd continue at length, til she could swear if he didn't cut it out soon, she'd tell him to. Which would only make her look like a fool, she understood. But he produced this constant turmoil inside her everytime she happened across him. Which wasn't often enough for her to understand why this was even so.
She rode home in silence mostly, as her friend steered through the cold winter roads. She added her input here and there, staying light and friendly. He'd turn back once or twice to look at her and laugh. And everytime he did, she felt a pleasure that embarrassed her. She found she was constantly waiting for his attention, appreciation, and acceptance. And everytime she caught herself knowing this fact, she would despise him irrationally. And herself. She hadn't been close to this boy in years, if ever really, so who was he to stir up these feelings? Who the hell did he think he was, flustering her?
She asked what he was planning to do in life to change the subject, whatever it had been. She was going to take back control of herself. He replied with a "what do you mean?" and he could've said it anyway but she interpreted it as a shade of his colder moods. This only pissed her off further. But she stayed calm, even though she had this sudden urge to lash out at his arrogant demeanor. She continued to have the feeling that she was inferior around him. That he was more intelligent, more capable. She couldn't stand him.
As the car pulled to a stop in front of her house, she got out of the backseat and stepped over to her lovely friend (who she regretfully, yet proudly, felt matched this young man better than she) and gave her a hug in the frigid cold. She spoke in her friend's ear to not bother with another boy that was causing her hurt, and that she loved her. She circled the car to head for the driveway, waving at the headlights meaning to wave goodbye to that fool in the front, and started walking towards her house.
"Where’s my hug?"
He got out of the car and she turned towards him as he wrapped his arms around her.
"It was good seeing you" he said as he squeezed her tighter.
"You too" she whispers into his coat as she squeezes back.... "Take care of her" she says upon letting him go, turning towards the house & he immediately replies "You too."
She realizes as she continues walking up the drive that he had thought her words were to be "Take care of yourself.” Not to give him the responsibility of looking after their friend.
She was surprised at how much she wished she had told him those words. Take care of yourself. She didn't understand the sudden worry for him, the need for him to be okay. She understood that might have very well been the last time she ever was to see him again. She realized how tightly she clung to the small things… small details were all that ever really mattered when it came to him. It's all she ever paid attention to. If she could get past them, she would have been able to conduct herself as a normal human being around him.
But instead she saw his deep brown, penetrating eyes. She saw the curls in his hair. She noticed how his face was constantly playing with shadow and light. She saw his quiet moments to himself where he must be in his head. She loved to see him snap out and say something sarcastic, but humorous, as if he had been there the whole time. She saw there was a hot and cold about him, but knew his soul to be warm.
She also knew that it had always been her place to admire from afar. She was never to be his, he was never to be hers.
And that was that.
"I like to travel."
"From one side of rooms to the other? I see that."
"Yeah... I've never been here before... I think I like it."
"You've only just arrived. That could all change."
"Oh? I don't know..."
And it left me feeling... refreshed.
Am I allowed to say this? I didn't write the movie, or produce it, or anything...
I just watched it.
And I just think it would be great if we could always break our hearts, and laugh at the same time.
Not one or the other,
but have it be synchranized,
as if it goes hand in hand.
And not in a wierd, creepy, immature kind of way either...
But in a way where you think,
"You know... this fucking blows.
this time in my life..
it's absolutely awful...
But it's okay.
I am going to be okay."
Almost the way you feel about your grandmother losing her memory.
It's depressing when she turns to you and asks who you are?
But you have to smile when she confides in you that she's feeling scandalous sleeping with another man.
That man, of course, being your grandfather.
Of fifty, some odd years.
People need to make more films, more stories like this.
It's all that we ever really want anyways, isn't it?
To feel like everything's going to be okay.
To laugh a little, inbetween the tears.
It's all I want.
deep is exhausting.
hand me a magazine full of material things.
this is so superficial, it's ridiculous.
tell me a story of make-believe,
but make me believe it,
as if you mean it,
as if it's possible for this to be the meaning of all things.
now give me something real,
that i can hold,
like your hand.
let's walk a while along the shores,
look out across the ocean,
and let's lie here,
let's take in the sky.
did you ever wish to fly?
well haven't we all?
and don't you feel small?
"well, i know i'm tall"
make me laugh to forget,
tell me stories to remember,
ask me once for a kiss,
but never say forever.
now stop rhyming.
stop holding me just so.
it's cold out here,
i want to go home.
once in bed,
you begin to dream