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.