Pieces.

Lately all I've been writing about is you, because at the moment I'm trying to work myself out and to figure out how to be in all this.


I made a book of happy things and I'm thinking of making one of sad things, but I'm not sure if that's a good idea at the moment.
You see the feeling has returned, and it's just there, hovering in my thoughts, threatening me but not quite taking over like it used to. I don't think that it will, but I'm wary all the same. It's been keeping me on my toes.
If I make a book of meaningful things instead, maybe that will be different, but I'm just not sure.
I think I will.

"I feel too much. That's what's going on.' 'Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?' 'My insides don't match up with my outsides.' 'Do anyone's insides and outsides match up?' 'I don't know. I'm only me.' 'Maybe that's what a person's personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.' 'But it's worse for me.' 'I wonder if everyone thinks it's worse for him.' 'Probably. But it really is worse for me."

 — Jonathan Safran Foer (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)


It was one of the best books I've ever read.

You are

beaches

and

bluebottles

and

night time

and

driving

and

rollercoaster roads

and

midnight

and

black water

and

bright lights

and

big rocks

and

ice cream

and

walking

and

secret

and

shooting stars

and

dingoes

and

good morning

and

company

and

comfort

and

the opposite of lonely

and

opera

and

movies

and

one in the morning

and

breakwalls

and

jeans

and

football

and

knees

and

hands

and

orange

Sometimes I regret reading so many books, because they've given me unrealistic expectations of the world.

You make me feel orange.

On a color wheel the opposite of orange is blue.
Lonely people are blue, therefore the opposite of lonely is orange.

I wanted to know a word for the opposite of lonely and I found this.
 

Dear You.

I’m sorry that your life’s a mess, and I’m sorry that things don’t work out and I’m sorry that you used to (and still could be, I’ll probably never know) be so sad all the time, and I’m sorry that you can’t find that someone yet (but neither can I, so you’re not alone in being alone ), and I’m sorry that I don’t give you the reaction that you want from me ( I just can’t bring myself to, even though I want to sometimes with my whole being), and I’m sorry that sometimes you feel lost (I seem to feel lost more than others, but maybe it’s because I never tell anyone and neither do they, but I’m working on it I really am can’t you tell? I told you how I felt before when you asked me if I noticed how they were changing even though they said they wouldn’t and I told you I did and that it made me feel lost too and that I didn’t fit in, but when you asked me I didn’t tell you the truth - that you have changed, you’re not the same, you’re different and I couldn’t tell you that because sometimes when people ask for the honest truth and you know that it will hurt them or that they won’t like the answer then it should be ok to tell a lie, to reassure them that no they haven’t changed at all, that they’re still the same person, even if everyone’s changing even if I’ve changed, because really, I have, I could tell you how I’m sad a lot of the time when I’m near the others, because I can feel how different things are and I can feel just how lost things are since they happened, and how I am changing, re orientating myself around them and refocusing the lenses of my eyes to how I see other people, I’m becoming a drifter, floating from place to place trying to figure out where I can place my anchors so that I don’t continue to drift away until I am nothing but a spot in the sky, and I could tell you how I know things won’t be the same, because they could never go back to how they were after everything that’s happened, and I can only remember how they were before everything was turned on it’s side, before the earth began to spin the other way, before that happened because for me, that was what started it all, the butterfly that had the effect on my world) and I’m sorry that I can’t tell you all this because if you want the truth I don’t think you’d know how to handle it and you’d just react the way you know I don’t like and that would put us back to where we were a few weeks ago - not speaking because you didn’t understand - but maybe you did understand, these days I’m just not sure how your brain works - I never was sure - and these days I am less sure than ever.

I wish I could, but I could never tell you this.

From Me.

I'm glad it made you feel better.
(Even if it was a while ago)
And I hope that you're okay.
Even it doesn't sound like you are.
I'm not sure if you want me to know anymore.
Just give me a sign when you're ready.

You know, I think more and more often.

by Tadeusz Borowski


You know, I think more and more often
that I should go back.
Maybe I’ll meet you. And happiness?
Happiness is being sad together.

So I look through the moonlit window
and listen.
Nothing. A breeze stirs somewhere.
Alone among the leaves - the moon.

Like a golden wheel it rolls
above the windblown leaves.
Such moons, only paler,
shone over the Wisla.

Even the Big Dipper on its course
stops in a tree at midnight,
just like at home. But why here?
Truly, I don’t know.

What’s here? Longing and sleepless nights,
unknown streets and somebody’s verse.
I live here as a nobody:
a Displaced Person.

I think of you. I know I must leave.
Perhaps we can return to our past,
but I know neither what youth will be like
nor where you are.

But I’m yours or no one’s
forever. Listen,
listen, read this poem
if somewhere you are alive.

You told me I had small feet.
They're almost half the size of mine, You said.
My hands are small too, I said.
You laughed.

The History of Love - Nicole Kraus.

Insignificant.

I didn’t feel one bit infinite in that moment, I felt insignificant and I could feel the smallness inside of me, inside my chest, making me feel hollow and empty.

photo.

A letter.

All I needed was to write a letter to myself,

saying that I was doing the right thing, 

 before I could start to believe it.