And so I grab a pen again, simply because it's rainy, cold and past 1a.m.... and I thought of you. Life is okay as long as I don't think of the future - or the past. I've bought a self-help book and I'll go on a diet again soon (well, I must), which reminds me I should exercise again. As I write I feel there's beauty in routine, and I wonder what's yours like. What's it like being you? Such questions are very interesting to me.
Last time we spoke you said I was wasting my life on guys I could never get and that I wasn't going to live past my 30s - maybe you're even right, though only time will tell. For now, most of the time, I'm okay with myself for a weird reason I have no idea of. I'm slowly trying to grow within my limitations rather than try outgrowing my limitations - that whole evolution before revolution thing.
I don't have much to talk about my life with others when they ask me what's up, except really mundane stuff which is what most conversations are made of once you know someone. However, if these walls could talk, they'd tell you I'm trying. All within my limits. It's hard having to say something new and exciting everyday, isn't it?
My mind is finally realizing how faraway internet relationships cannot be - but it hasn't warned my body yet, for it's still lost in aimless longing. Maybe it'll happen soon.
Sometimes Dylan's "One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)" comes to mind about us. Perhaps I never realized how young we were and still are, but most likely this was never about age. The magic is that we've been a part of each other's lives and nothing will change that. I have all I could ever have of you: pictures, handwriting, and your voice. One of them is real. It's sad, but so are most things if we don't make an effort to see otherwise. An effort we don't always want to make.
For instance, I was talking today with a friend about life nd if I'd rather be happy in life and soon forgotten or lead a troublesome existence that would leave me on History. I doubt there's a soul out there who never wanted to be famous, rich or loved by many, but... I guess my dreams haven't been of that nature for many years. Using that common sense, if I write a book, plant a tree and have a son, it'll be okay. I don't think small, or maybe I do - but I act small, or maybe I don't. Adulthood calls us all eventually.
Perhaps I never loved you, only the idea of never being able to have you for many, many reasons. The body always wants, but the mind plays a different game. Perhaps my obsession towards you was all about getting me to show myself once again I'm unlovable.
I'm still trying, though echoes of your un-sexualization sometimes make me act that way too, which ends up only being something I say in the heat of the moment and not something I can actually do. Some things are hard and most of them are yet to come, and very likely love isn't the biggest issue here - oddly, it doesn't seem the most likely to get me killed, as you might know. You've chosen Jesus, I just might choose Nietzsche.