C'est la Vie

“Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.”-Foer

“I have this dream every night. Even when I can’t remember it the next morning, I know it was there, like the depression a lover’s head leaves on the pillow next to you after she’s left. I dream not of growing old with her, but of never growing old, either of us. She never leaves me, and I never leave her. It’s true, I am afraid of dying. I am afraid of the world moving forward without me, of my absence going unnoticed, or worse, being some natural force propelling life on. Is it selfish? Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don’t mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.”
-Foer

images from: tumblr

Iceland

New destination, the Blue Lagoon

And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges, and absorbs the impact. Forgive me, for I have tried love and everything else, and neither seems to be enough. The rarefied atmosphere that comes with the beginning of love, the first moments of sadness slip out the window. And between the moments hangs a dark and heavy difference. The difference drifts away as moments add up. I will wait in my bedroom as I did before, a thought ajar, and you will slip into my room like a white tiger. I don’t need to suggest that I loved you the best. Still, I want you, just exactly like I used to. I live by the ocean and during the night I dive into it, down to the bottom underneath all currents and drop my anchor.

It’s the opposite of disappearing.

That’s the trouble with silence. Just to utter a single word would be to destroy the delicate fluency of silence. So many words get lost; they leave the mouth and loose their courage. Wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days, you can hear their chorus rushing from the past. But it doesn’t sound good. It doesn’t sound like anything. The oldest feeling in the world might have simply been confusion.

I wish we could have met when we were young, when we didn’t know disappointment. That way, we couldn’t remind each other of it. We stood next to each other because that is what friends do in the presence of evil or love. On your porch, alone and loved. Sinking into our own skin. The one string harp, the shot in the dark. It may be the face I can't forget, a trace of pleasure or regret. I want to remember how it feels to say nothing together, to hold hands. My heart takes the beat, then something else. Nudges it. Alive again.

So, I cut off my hair

and I rode straight away

to the wiiiild unknown country 

where I could not go wrong.

-Bob Dylan

But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes. People aren't supposed to look back. I'm certainly not going to do it anymore.

- Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut

I hate the idea of leaving this place I love. Why on earth must I make the long drive back to the real world of responsibilities and real life? Tis a feeling of dread. Home, let me go home, home is wherever I'm with you. Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa, moats and boats and waterfalls, alleyways and payphone calls. 

Man oh man you're my best friend, I scream into the nothingness, there aint nothing that I need. 

The weather was fine, and the ocean was great, and I can't wait to see you again. 

all photos from, tumblr

And don’t worry, for healed broken hearts pour themselves out under a full moon light. And as we tell each other our dreams we scream, “it’s time for this change.” 

Novembre

I set out one night

When the tide was low

There were signs in the sky

But I did not know

I'd be caught in the grip

Of the undertow

Ditched on a beach

Where the sea hates to go

With a child in my arms

And a chill in my soul

And my heart the shape

Of a begging bowl

-Leonard Cohen

November 9, 2010

I want to know if you love me, that's all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself but the knowledge that love is there, like new batteries in the flashlight in the emergency kit in the hall closet. As long as it exists.

I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone. It's the tragedy of loving, you can't love anything more than something you miss.

Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart is made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it was me, my thinking, the act of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it. You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.

I'm so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything. Sometimes I imagine stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love? Humans are the only animal that blushes, laughs, has religion, wages war, and kisses with lips. So in a way, the more you kiss with lips, the more human you are.

The more you love someone, the harder it is to tell them.

So how can you say I love you to someone you love?

Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you...

It's always necessary.

I love you.

Au fond de son âme, cependant, elle attendait un événement. Comme les matelots en détresse, elle promenait sur la solitude de sa vie des yeux désespérés, cherchant au loin quelque voile blanche dans les brumes de l'horizon. (At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like sailors in distress, she ran her despairing eyes over the solitude of her life, searching afar for some white sail in the mists on the horizon.)

-Gustave FLAUBERT, Madame Bovary

photos from: Dora's fur, Free People blog, ffffound

My jeans are low, my hair is brown

I was born by the river in a little white tent and just like that river Ive been running ever since. By the time you read this you will be older than you remembered. I am a daughter of Eve. My jeans are low, my hair is brown and I dont cruise control, I control the cruise. I love nights in white satin and from this day on, I wear my fathers gun. The sun burns my imperfections. I daydream constantly but cant sleep at night. I believe in the moments that are unsustainable, impossible to capture, transcendent. I can resist anything except temptation. I enjoy herbals. I believe you should feed your soul whenever possible. Theres nothing inspirational like watching angels drop. You are here but you wont always be. This is now but that too will soon pass. Our accidents and inspirations lead us to our destinations. I live in sunshine, swim the sea and drink the wild air. I'm free because I'm always running. There are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door.

Image source: tumblr