Post by Emrys on Nov 14, 2007 0:41:12 GMT 1
~ Page out of an unknown diary ~
The boy, newly met, was just a mystery. A suprise rather. Something unexpected. The boy was very strange. The boy got me a challenge, the challenge not to let that boy go that easy. The boy spoke, the boy wanted me not to get used of the fact he was there. Maybe that boy wanted to be forgotten. Why would one want to be forgotten? Or was I the one thinking that boy would want this or that, not even realising that I just couldn't see what the boy wanted. It's my flaw.
I can't look to the eyes of another one. And it would seem this other one confronted me with dazzling shards of shards. Shards of Shards. Shard that, if I think about it now, were shards. Shards, and thus pieces of that what was whole. Whole but not yet constructed. The one that gave me these feelings that were the most various ever. It is so obvious. Various and thus complete? Complete but unfinished. It was good. It shouldn't be finished. At least that one held the secret of how to finish something. Maybe that one did, because the key was lost, the one was only the keyhole.
He came up to me, telling me he did not know. If he didn't know, how could I possibly know? He was hurt. Good for him. I told him I wasn't hurt. I have to be strong, the mountains spill their rivers, lead them towards a puddle beneath. There is no way my tears could be shed. But why is is it, when I think about him, that I do worry about how I feel? I had to be the glacial one, having my ice cold lonelyness as the shell of my thoughts. He would want to bump it, again and again, and so he did. But it would not break. The music drove color of sadness in my mind, pierced faithfull climax in that what I called empty. I fought. Fought not to say what I really thought.
Seemed you fought too, but with another reason. You fought for someone else. And yet you did not say you were sorry. Not for me, the other ones, nor yourself. Maybe for yourself, because you live to hurt. Or that is, maybe what your feelings mixed themselves into. But then you told me how you really felt. That was far more valuable than words of hate, words of rejection, words of love, words of sadness, word of empathy, ... just words in general. You felt. It was great to feel you felt. Hell, don't ask me why. I don't know why I felt what you felt. It just came in, as if whispered by the angels. Maybe it was kind of a divine message. Maybe it was just nohting. Maybe it was just you. Or me? The truth. Yes, the truth. I had been told about that several times. Those nails were blown in with the hammer of life. Yet little did I know the truth was just slumbering reality. There is so much more than truth. Or maybe there isn't. At least that thought pushes us forward, into unknown boundaries of seperate thoughts.
We talked about this and that but what we talked about the most, was what we didn't talk about. It got me wondering and thinking. And while I realised that, I knew I wasn't even thinking. Evrything was told to me, as if the fairytale, thorn apart by God himself, was spread over nearby future. And we both gathered pieces. We were stupid. No, we were smart. No, searching. The heck am I supposed to know what we were? Well at least I realise now that we are holding on to the same pieces. We didn't search for them but they fluttered in our lives.
The boy.
The one.
Him.
You.
We.
I didn't knew that I would know now.
It is love.
The boy, newly met, was just a mystery. A suprise rather. Something unexpected. The boy was very strange. The boy got me a challenge, the challenge not to let that boy go that easy. The boy spoke, the boy wanted me not to get used of the fact he was there. Maybe that boy wanted to be forgotten. Why would one want to be forgotten? Or was I the one thinking that boy would want this or that, not even realising that I just couldn't see what the boy wanted. It's my flaw.
I can't look to the eyes of another one. And it would seem this other one confronted me with dazzling shards of shards. Shards of Shards. Shard that, if I think about it now, were shards. Shards, and thus pieces of that what was whole. Whole but not yet constructed. The one that gave me these feelings that were the most various ever. It is so obvious. Various and thus complete? Complete but unfinished. It was good. It shouldn't be finished. At least that one held the secret of how to finish something. Maybe that one did, because the key was lost, the one was only the keyhole.
He came up to me, telling me he did not know. If he didn't know, how could I possibly know? He was hurt. Good for him. I told him I wasn't hurt. I have to be strong, the mountains spill their rivers, lead them towards a puddle beneath. There is no way my tears could be shed. But why is is it, when I think about him, that I do worry about how I feel? I had to be the glacial one, having my ice cold lonelyness as the shell of my thoughts. He would want to bump it, again and again, and so he did. But it would not break. The music drove color of sadness in my mind, pierced faithfull climax in that what I called empty. I fought. Fought not to say what I really thought.
Seemed you fought too, but with another reason. You fought for someone else. And yet you did not say you were sorry. Not for me, the other ones, nor yourself. Maybe for yourself, because you live to hurt. Or that is, maybe what your feelings mixed themselves into. But then you told me how you really felt. That was far more valuable than words of hate, words of rejection, words of love, words of sadness, word of empathy, ... just words in general. You felt. It was great to feel you felt. Hell, don't ask me why. I don't know why I felt what you felt. It just came in, as if whispered by the angels. Maybe it was kind of a divine message. Maybe it was just nohting. Maybe it was just you. Or me? The truth. Yes, the truth. I had been told about that several times. Those nails were blown in with the hammer of life. Yet little did I know the truth was just slumbering reality. There is so much more than truth. Or maybe there isn't. At least that thought pushes us forward, into unknown boundaries of seperate thoughts.
We talked about this and that but what we talked about the most, was what we didn't talk about. It got me wondering and thinking. And while I realised that, I knew I wasn't even thinking. Evrything was told to me, as if the fairytale, thorn apart by God himself, was spread over nearby future. And we both gathered pieces. We were stupid. No, we were smart. No, searching. The heck am I supposed to know what we were? Well at least I realise now that we are holding on to the same pieces. We didn't search for them but they fluttered in our lives.
The boy.
The one.
Him.
You.
We.
I didn't knew that I would know now.
It is love.
Het is gewoon belachelijk druk momenteel. Eerst examens en nu zit ik twee weken in Mechelen. En das van 9 uur 's ochtends tot 23 uur 's avonds dat ik weg ben. Dus ik zie mijn computer niet veel meer.
kennelijk kan dat met een eeuwen oud e-mail adres 