The last piece I wrote I wrote with a mixture of self-doubt and nerves. It's weird. I've never felt like that before while writing here. It was the only place I could write freely without fear. It's clearly ironic how a person not friends with words decided to start writing a blog. I'm not sure if it was connected to this stubborn side of me that is fighting to get over my fears and not let them defeat me or maybe something else. Yeah, I'm not sure.
Either way, I felt really amateurish (it's not like I'm not entirely) the last time. Really struggling to get my point of views out and finding the proper words while trying to make it beautiful to read as well (which is something I'm always looking forward to in a text). I scared me even more. The lack of writing about what's important to me during the last months had a degenerative effect on me.
And in those situations what's there better to do than to write, write and write as it was once so clearly put by one of my dear friends. So here I am following his words and writing, writing, writing.
Even if my pursuits are a baloney sandwich.
So here is a take on a picture I was drawn to while wondering around Andy's blog.
I love how fashion tells a story. You know already how I love stories. When I grow up I want to be a storycollecter and if that's a bit too abstract then a storyteller will do just fine.
Hey, an idea for you! Feeling bored? Send me your story. No, seriously. Make me happy, please.
"It took me 5 years to finally and fully understand it.
Either way, I felt really amateurish (it's not like I'm not entirely) the last time. Really struggling to get my point of views out and finding the proper words while trying to make it beautiful to read as well (which is something I'm always looking forward to in a text). I scared me even more. The lack of writing about what's important to me during the last months had a degenerative effect on me.
And in those situations what's there better to do than to write, write and write as it was once so clearly put by one of my dear friends. So here I am following his words and writing, writing, writing.
Even if my pursuits are a baloney sandwich.
So here is a take on a picture I was drawn to while wondering around Andy's blog.
I love how fashion tells a story. You know already how I love stories. When I grow up I want to be a storycollecter and if that's a bit too abstract then a storyteller will do just fine.
Hey, an idea for you! Feeling bored? Send me your story. No, seriously. Make me happy, please.
"It took me 5 years to finally and fully understand it.
All that was necessary was a stranger in a bus-station, one glance. And voila! You, my dear, have yourself an epiphany.
You gave me the 5 best years of your life and all I left behind was a note saying "I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore"
I've never acted just so plain thoughtless. By getting on this train I've given up on a secure relationship, a designated future, a fought-for career. Love. Stability. Comfort.
Still I've never felt so liberated before.
I embraced your lovely words and how you arranged them until they formed the the most beautiful vision of our common future.
Seeing the world. Moving in. A ring. A house with sunflowers growing in the back yard. Kids. Grandkids. Laughing at each other's gray locks.
You were so good at building castles in the air. You were so convincing. I bought it. You made me want the same things, because I wanted you. At least I thought I did. Now as I look back I know it was the idea of you.
I was young and I was mesmerized by what you brought into my life.
That's how I explained it to myself.
You made me want to be a better person. But I'm not. I'm me. And I can't even believe I'm almost quoting the cheesiest movie ever made.
I really tried to fit in with this image you had of me. God is my witness, I really did. For a while even I started to believe that maybe I truly am someone different from what I thought to be. It took a brief connection with someone waiting for the same bus, a shared coffee and shared lives to come back to reality. I couldn't shut down the voice in my head repeating "you don't belong here". He was leaving for home. He asked me to come. I couldn't say no.
I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore."
I embraced your lovely words and how you arranged them until they formed the the most beautiful vision of our common future.
Seeing the world. Moving in. A ring. A house with sunflowers growing in the back yard. Kids. Grandkids. Laughing at each other's gray locks.
You were so good at building castles in the air. You were so convincing. I bought it. You made me want the same things, because I wanted you. At least I thought I did. Now as I look back I know it was the idea of you.
I was young and I was mesmerized by what you brought into my life.
That's how I explained it to myself.
You made me want to be a better person. But I'm not. I'm me. And I can't even believe I'm almost quoting the cheesiest movie ever made.
I really tried to fit in with this image you had of me. God is my witness, I really did. For a while even I started to believe that maybe I truly am someone different from what I thought to be. It took a brief connection with someone waiting for the same bus, a shared coffee and shared lives to come back to reality. I couldn't shut down the voice in my head repeating "you don't belong here". He was leaving for home. He asked me to come. I couldn't say no.
I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore."
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