Being and becoming.

There is no way that I will say that I know truly “What I want”, in almost any respect. I want to pursue happiness: in all sense of the meaning.  Happiness can be temporal (until the craving is fed). And it can be “long-lasting”, and as to what that may mean—I am unsure. Things I wanted last year, of both the standard of myself and out of people have changed—I think for the better, but regardless: my temporalities have altered and become either nonexistent or they are securing an existence within me.  Slowly, perhaps, “I” am becoming “Myself”.

The greater longevity a feeling, event, or presence something or someone has in their life: the more substantial the other becomes, is that not true?

I won’t pretend to understand myself in this moment, or what we were in the past, but what I am highly aware of is the significant presence that you once had within my life. I will not materially list off the most relevant parts of “us” and the strongest/ weakest points we endured: because that is like having wanderlust but suppressing those thoughts limiting yourself to tours of the dark. 

It is true that don’t know who I was or what we were, be it a love or a loss. But what I can comprehend is the sheer mass I feel in my heart/ soul/ and on my mind.

What can you do. What will I do?

N+O

Why were we told of our perfection? We knew of our wondrousness. Why wasn't a love like that worth fighting for? We knew too much. Are these questions forever, unanswered? One can only hope the answer is more than two letters, more than N+O.

wise words of/ on love

People would never separate from one another if they had real love…

Real love never increases or decreases.

There is no love anywhere. There is no such thing as love in this world. It is all infatuations and attractions. You will realize this right away when someone you love says something negative about you.

Real love is that which does not have any abhorrence behind it. How can it be called love when there is abhorrence associated with it? Love should be unwavering, unchanging.

-The Gnani Purush Dadashri 

we didn't see eye to eye

"It was hard to tell just how I felt; to not recognize myself. I started to fade away. And after all it won't take long to fall in love, Now I know what I don't want, I learned that with you."

We didn’t see eye-to-eye, we thought we saw thought-to-thought but what I thought was wrong and what I know most truly is that truthfully I was in no way at all connected to you. We didn’t see anything but perhaps aesthetics and fabricated selves, & this is what makes it easy for me to forget  about you. The love I felt for you, only caused me pain; dolorosa and dilemmas are not how we gain.

And the great thing is, I don't care at all. Not one bit. It's rather funny actually. To the best of times, I say good-bye. Drawn out like a sketch; I erased the mess of it; the rest. Going somewhere to forget about everything, everyone and all that I know. Bare skin, mind empty, all my bills put on hold. This way, I'll never know what to "Lo and behold".

It’s important (and it has been said) to be fully in love with oneself prior to “giving yourself” or being in love. To feel the effect in the most immense of measured amounts, I will agree that as a true observation.

First and foremost, I do love myself. But it’s premature. Still growing to it’s full form. A bulb that wants to be pedals and in full flora-fleur bloom.

On Sundays, I feel unstable. Often in a bit of a blur from the weekend. Which is traditionally the time when one “has fun”, or takes time off/ relaxes. Oh, oh oh this is never the case! 

And on Mondays, I usually feel like a wreck. Frantic, moody, and making irrevocably irrational statements or claims. Dear god, I loathe Mondays.

But these days aside, I think I’m in love. With him. The softest and smallest gestures always mean the most. The accidents that happen are always the most exciting, and the best to laugh about. The most inspirational, making for the best stories to tell, to gush about.

Like on my birthday when I started choking on the chocolate you gave me because I was too excited to be next to you (and about the fantastic film we saw). So I engulfed too much; with extreme distaste (oh rudeness) and haste. My cheeks full like a cherub squirrel, I began to wheeze and cough. I managed to squeak out “pull over”, and so we did. I began to feel nauseous, overwhelmed and out of breath. I bent over to get sick, and you came to comfort me. Just as you were about to pat my back, you screamed and I stood upright; alert. You slapped your knee and emitted a final yelp. Your pants had caught fire from a cigarette and you hadn’t noticed the burning. A burning hole right through your pants. I began to sweet talk to you. Cooing, assuring your safety, if you were burned etc. 

In this absurd oddity that was five minutes in time, something made me closer to you. 

Or when I awake in the dead of the night, shivering. I look over at you (the moon illuminating your shape), and see you have the entire blanket piled up on your torso. Piled! It looked like a flower. In full bloom; just like the one I want to be.

will i ever find someone to sit with me, (maybe on a swing) and read lolita out loud. yes, that will be the preliminary question from here on out. (the one to weed out the rotten legumes). oh how you've taught me, shown me, and formed a new soul.  one that has been brewing long within. and how wretched it would be to taint a sweetness as agreeable as me.

no longer will this be a mess. say goodbye to this docile girl. i'll have it all under control, i'm glad to let this go.

the tangibility between

(Long ago) I wrote about how wild, raw, natural, real, etc you are. That still stands, you know this. But the issue at hand is what we have not developed in any area except the one that we have nearly  perfected. Can we work it out? 

That's always the question. Will it become tangible? We are absolutely drawn to another, the distance away from you makes my entire body ache. But elongated nearness makes me just as sore. What is this?

As I near the ending of More Die of Heartbreak (many die of radiation but more do of heartbreak, but no one organizes against it), with each page turn I am seeking this answer out. I turn to Bellow for descriptions of busty women, spinsters, offbeat botanists, and faint lovers. Why not this?

people in love spend a lot of money on cherries.

among other things.