I want to be madly and passionately in love. I want to be less sad. I want to be an optimist. I want to think less. I want to be seen. I want to stay hidden. I want to be free. I want to be alone. I want to never be alone. I want to turn back time. I want to travel in time. I want to undo situations. I want to redo situations. I want to be young. I want to be old. I want to be beautiful. I want people to take me seriously. I want to be somewhere else. I want to vanish. I want to waste my time. I want to daydream. I want a future. I want to be freed of the past. I want to trust you. I want you to trust me too. I want to laugh with you. I want to make you laugh. I want you to make me laugh. I want to cry. I want to cry with you. I want you to make me cry. I want to be intelligent. I want to be merciful. I want to be special. I want to be inspired. I want to be inspiring. I want to be at peace. I want to stay melancholic. I want to be your most important memory. I want you to recognize me. I want to be talented. I don’t want to hide. I want to stay compassionate. I want to stay confused and amazed about the world and people. I want to keep contradicting myself. I want to be more than a fantasy. I want to live. I want to be me. I want to know me. I want you to know me. I want to be interested. I want to be interesting. I want to find me. I want to be sensual. I want to step into the light. I want to stay in my darkness. I want to go out of my mind. I want to stay who I am. I want so many different things. I want to be everything. I want to be no one at all.
“I had these ideas about you. None of them are true…”
“Well… You’re a smoker.”
“Been one for 30 years. What else?”
“You’re smaller than I expected”
*He groans, rolls his eyes and puts his cigarette out with the heel of his sneaker. She’s embarrassed and nervous, trying to find words to say that aren’t offending or insulting in this awkward situation.
“You are much more handsome than on your pictures.”
*He smiles. She’s back on track.
“I said “no” when you asked about being intimate on our first date. I meant “yes”.”
*The admission leaves her timid and waiting for rejection. She puts a lock of hair behind her ear. It jumps right back to where it was. He stands straighter, anticipating what will be happening next.
“I can’t see how this has anything to do with the way you imagined me to be”
“I judged you. I don’t know you.”
*It’s almost an apology. Almost.
“We spoke on the phone for two years.”
“You know exactly who I am. Maybe not my mannerisms or my daily habits. You know the deeper me. You know me better than anyone else.”
*It’s flattering to hear these words, but she is sceptical. Does he really tell the truth or is this his way of getting what he wants? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? She gives in. No reason to fight the feelings she doesn’t want to fight.
“You had me with that smile, moments before you said hello.”
“Two years ago I told you that I would never fall in love with you and that I only want sex from you. I lied.”
*She blushes and smiles at his feet. She still doesn’t know what he sees in her; she is short and overweight; and he could have every girl he wants.
“Come here… We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s make the best of it.”
*She nods. Their eyes are locked and their breaths mingle, moments before their lips touch. Her heart races and her knees feel weak. Electricity. He tastes of cold smoke and she can feel his smile on her lips. His hands find an immediate way under her shirt. The heat of his skin on her back leaves imprints on her soul that she can never wash off. She needs more of him. All of him. As much as he is willing to give. If he lets her in, she will submit to him, surrender to his needs. She will become his everything. With an urgency, they find the bed behind them. Clothes are quickly disposed of. There is no time to waste. Not even to appreciate the nakedness of the other. He used to ask her to tell him that she loves him. For the first time, these words leave her lips without being a lie, just as he enters her and fills her in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Completion. This encounter is more than she ever expected it to be. It is less too. Two lonely humans giving in to their primal urges after building up to this moment for more than two years. Everything they ever said, everything they ever wrote; every picture they ever shared – everything led to this moment. The moment when two become one. And although everything that is happening right there is ordinary, nothing about it is, in fact, ordinary. Moans, sweat, the scent of sex, the creaking of the bed. Two people who stopped thinking. Only existing. Become one.
If you look at me, please see me. If you see me for the person that I am, please love me.
If you listen to me, please hear me. If you hear my words, please understand them.
If you want me, don’t hold back. If you don’t hold back, I will be all yours.
This is actually no fiction. This is all me in my most vulnerable state. I am afraid to be invisible, invaluable, used…
Coffee and a cigarette. I drink tea and I don’t smoke. Classical music. Loud. What about post rock and progressive? Too loud. For now. In front of me, a book. It drew me in. An autobiographical striptease. No niceties. Just truth. Me at the center. Recognizing that I sit here, day in and day out. In a haze. I’m sad. I am numb. I can’t be. I can’t do. Tomorrow, I will get up and do whatever I need to do. Today I sit here. There are no thoughts. Blank. Empty. When did I become this empty? I am full of thoughts. Of doubts. Full of shit. Yet I am empty. Where is that explosion of emotions? I wish I could cry. I can’t. I close my eyes, tilt my head to the side and with two fingers I rub my forehead. Just a moment of quiet. I open my eyes and look into the distance. There is nothing to see. Just all the things I can’t do. Life. I can’t do life right now. I don’t have the energy. I wish I knew who to blame. No one to blame. It’s not about them or what they don’t do. It’s about me. The lack of me and the question why I even exist. I am not doing anything. Just sitting. Starring. Sipping coffee and waiting for the day to be over. It’s only morning. And I am tired. Tired of not knowing what to do. I know exactly what to do, but those are not the things I am referring to. I am not lazy. But I am not here. No one’s home. Too many times I dreamed myself away. This time I didn’t come back. Apathetic. I forgot who I am. Who will I be? Deeper and deeper. I drown. Not in self-loathe or self-pity. I just drown. Around me, a cloud. It keeps me away from all the important emotions. Indifference. At the same time, I’m restless. Nervous inside. Irritable. Lost. But I don’t want to be found by just anyone. It has to be the right someone. And so, my thoughts come and go. In quick succession. If I could just do something. And use the word ‘just’ a lot less. There should be more. But there is nothing but grey. And I am a hostage. Caged by myself. And the voice that keeps telling me to be someone is getting louder again. Leave a footprint. Impress people with your skills. What skills? Believe in me! I can’t believe in myself. I am just an addict. Addicted to words people say and don’t mean. Hurt by those same words when I see that they were just that: words. Meaningless. When they meant everything to me. Another sip of coffee. It’s cold. The coffee. Not me. Starring in the distance again. Everything is blurry. Absently rubbing my fingers under my nose. They smell of cold cigarette smoke. Disgusting. Song number 8. I hear the word peace. It’s like waking up. My focus is broken. Did I just write these words? Should I read them again? Are there typos? And if there are, will they make me look as pathetic as I feel? Inadequate. And I think of that group I am a member of on Facebook. Very hidden, because it’s closed. The same people share on the same days. A song on Saturday. A reason to be grateful on Monday. I am an ungrateful bitch. I don’t own anything to anyone. And isn’t that a lie I tell myself? But I don’t want to be grateful for shallow things. And the meaningful things – they are mine. I don’t want to share them at a given time. And my songs? Just as weird as I am. Not ‘Music for the Masses’. If I could just hide. That thought clashes with that other longing. See me. Long months ago, close to three years now, I came up with a couple of sentences that capture me quite well:
See me, don’t just look at me. But if you look at me And see me, please love me
I look out of the window. The second-last piece of music plays and I look at the jewel-case next to me. It’s called ‘The Trees’. It sounds as if there is an imminent catastrophe. Nothing soothing in this music. I rub at the corner of my mouth. Left side. Unimportant details. Two word sentences. No style of writing. For a fleeting moment I wonder if this is hard to read and then I remember that I want it this way. Short sentences. Broken thoughts. More impact. The piano plays faster. My fingers type faster too. I close my eyes. Dive in the music. Head first. My fingers keep pushing buttons. I taught myself how to type. And then it stops. And all I want to do is plead for the song to go on. But it doesn’t. I haven’t been able to let my fingers glide over the keyboard like this in a long while. Guided by the music. Me and music. Music and me. I know nothing about music. I just know that I love to be touched. The music stopped. The spell is broken. The mood is lifted. Not much. But enough.For now. My thirst is not stilled. There is still hunger. Longing. Want. Need. But what happens when I get what I wanted and thought I needed? I will never be satisfied. It is never enough. There has to be more. Always more.
Some people get by
With a little understanding
Some people get by
With a whole lot more
I don’t know
Why you gotta be so undemanding
One thing I know
I want more
I want more
I’ll leave you with this. Oh and by the way… While I wrote this, I was listening to Max Richter – the Blue Notebooks