Friendship

Yesterday I lost a friend. Someone that I cared about more than he wanted, someone that I've respected more than he ever knew. Someone I trusted - and I typically trust no-one.
I have too few to lose them. And yet, I lost him. Just like that - in a blink of an eye, he was not my friend anymore. He was just a guy telling me "no". And all I wanted was a hug... and a bit of understanding... and a good word. But he didn't have that, then. He was more preoccupied of his own safety? or comfort? or simple, plain, non-complicated life? whatever - it was about him, not about me. Even if all I asked for was a minute.
But nobody hits someone who's already down. Nobody.
And I know he's not nobody. Then why?
I know - I just want too much. And nobody has the time to offer that. Only me. And when I do, they just get scared. All I have is an open heart. And people no longer trust that. But I am not going to change. No. I am right - they are wrong, and bitter, and old.
I lost a friend. But he also lost one.

Us

There's nothing between us. Except for an ocean. And a lot of distance. And
a few hours. Time and space are both against us. But there's no us. It's just me and the image of a someone that I once knew. And wished to keep. But he was like sand through my fingers. And we both loved his freedom - I couldn't have put fences around that. He was wild and happy as such. I could have tried to keep pace. But I was too afraid I'll loose it. So I let him be and enjoyed his smile. And pretended he wanted more, while hiding behind the thought it was not the right time and space. Next life, next planet. He's gone with the wind. I am just dreaming now - and send him kisses via the moon, while my fingers hopelessly caress the profile of his face and the shape of his lips in the air. I smile and cry - for him, (for)ever again.

Good enough

A million questions without any answer ... a million excuses without reasons ... a million ways to look in a mirror, and yet none will make me better. 'cause I'm not good enough. Not good enough for me, not good enough for them. And I wake up every morning, look in the mirror and wonder why? A million "why's" ... a million sad thoughts ... And yet I cannot understand. How can I be so wrong? How could I be so blind for so long? How could they trick me into believing I am worth to be cared, and loved, and hugged and kissed... How did they trick me to believe I'm special?!

Disappointment ... over and over again ... Failure, over and over again ... Being hit, and turning the other cheek, for them to hit again ... Shouting and screaming ... nothing ... Begging ... Still nothing. I am just not good enough.

A million crazy suicidal thoughts ... and none can get me there ... A little cut on my hand - to remind me of yet another day, yet another failure, yet another one that said no. A million little cuts ... But he smiled and said "keep looking". But I'm tired, too tired ... I just want to sleep, and never wake up in front of a mirror.

I need a win ... or a cat ... or a constant reminder I only have bad luck ... or that I am bad luck ... or that I am nothing ... and nobody ... I want to get lost in the crowd and cry my million tears ... Then I will drink the glass of red wine for him ... and then another one ... and then another one ... until I will be able to tell him how much ... then I will be able to kiss him, in front of the world ... then, drunk and happy, will leave and never look back. But there's no wine, no kiss, and he's not mine ... he never was.

Wasted

The door is locked. Again.
I wish I could enter
Just for once.
I begged and prayed
I shouted and I screamed
No answer.
They don't care!
"Just let me in"
I've said.
"Just let me in the real world!!
I'll be normal,
I'll renegate myself,
I'll give away my world!"
I've shouted.
"I am too tired to fight,
Please, just please,
Just let me in ... "
I've begged.
But they don't care
The door is locked
And it will always be.
I climb the wall.
My fingers hurt
My blood is dripping
over grayish stone.
I slide, but try again
I drop. Again.
I'm hanging there
Barely suspended
between my worlds:
The one I do not want
And the one that doesn't want me.
I look over the fence...
They laugh with empty voices
I scream ...
They do not want to hear.
And then I fly away.
There is no place for me.
Free falling,
I am just waste
And wasted.

Not the right time

Have you ever realized that the world has been build on a time schedule? - on quite a short budget, I may add. It took Him seven days to make the world, in a very pragmatic way: step-by-step, day-by-day, task-by-task. Then who am I wonder how can people do the same?!

I live in the world of "this is not the right time for it". I've heard this so often lately that I'm sick of it. I'm sick of people explaining and lecturing about self-discipline and the important meaning of life versus unimportant and trivial things like love or happiness or freedom. I'm sick of important things - I want to live and enjoy trivial, non-important kisses, hugs, caresses. I want to laugh early morning in bed with him ... I want to be able to sneak out in the middle of the day for a quick run in the woods ... I want to be able to visit my friends at the end of the world even if it takes long and inefficient hours to travel ... . I want all these, even if I need to work like a slave to make up for them. Isn't this the way we are supposed to live - "live", not survive and struggle for a better "living".
These are the only things that matter ... and I am tired of explaining this ... I am tired of shouting it to people that I love ... they cannot hear, the world clock has swept them in ... all they see is the right and wrong times, nothing in between. I *know* they are wrong ... but in our reality, the majority is always right. So I cry, alone in my corner, in my beautiful, colorful world, with my beautiful, wonderful feelings to give to people that are never in the right moment for them. And I keep trying to make them happy ... it's just not the right time ... not the right time to be happy ... How naive are they to think these times are coming back ... How silly to throw away the few moments of happiness one gets to live ... just because it's not the right time.

I was born in the wrong time. I've struggled all my life to make it right, but I am still a stranger in this world of "right" and "wrong" times. They call me crazy or naive ... I am just not fitting in these templates and in this society ... and people that don't fit have two options: try to fit or run away. I am still trying to fit ... cutting myself (or my self) every day, because it's not the right time to run away, and it's wrong to kill (myself included).

Collector

Once upon a time I knew someone ... I knew him quite well, I thought. We were close, then we got closer, and closer ... and it seemed like we will be able to have our world and our little space together. Where "together" was the key word. But I was planning too much for my life. One day, he came to me and said "let's build the world together". And I, wrapped up with my plans for a bright future ... I said "let's build our own worlds first, then we will unite them and we'll have a bigger, better, richer world". He never agreed, but accepted. Next, he was gone - out of my life, out of our little space, out of reach. Just gone. I was alone with my big fancy glittering future plans. They didn't make much sense then, after all ... So I decided I am not worth the trouble - not for me, and not for anybody else. So I just slowly detached from myself ... slowly, and painfully, with calculated cruelty, I have demolished every thing that ever counted for me. Letter by letter, I have erased myself. Until I was just an empty shell - the most comfortable, cold and clean shell you can imagine.

Since then, I am collecting people. One by one, I try to take them close to me, to get me warm and to make me feel alive again. Each and every one of them redefines me ... I collect their image of me and project it on my empty shell. I embrace it as my new self, and I start building up a world around it. It's fake - I know - as most of them don't even realize they are collection items. But somehow all these worlds, and all these alternative futures are my substitute for life. I have a new self every time someone is close to me. I am a new person every time I fall in love again. And again. Don't get me wrong - I am completely honest in my feelings ... but how real can the feelings of an empty shell can be? I get hurt - I cry, and I feel pain ... but I collect the new world and its future - only a fantasy, but oh, what a sweet one.

Feelings

One day I will buy a cat ... or a dog ... or even better, I'll adopt a puppy to stand by me and my silly emotional self, to endure my sentimental effusions. And then, poor thing, it will have to listen to all my "i want to feel something, anything" crap. Because I am too old to share that with other people. They just don't have time, in their busy ordered crystal clear lives for someone like me. For someone that shows them stars, and flowers, and teddy bears ... for someone that wants to enjoy the sun and sing while running bare-footed in the grass. That's childish, and dangerous, and definitely self-destructive career-wise. And I am too old for people to accept that -- they want me to be serious and understand responsibility and its life-threatening importance. People do not understand me - I know, a puppy wouldn't either, but at least it would not complain. I guess you can overwhelm a puppy with feelings too, but I reckon it would be much harder.

Why are people so scared of feelings? Why is this world build only for time schedules, agenda's, appointments? Why do they call me crazy just because I don't have an agenda? Why do they give me these weird looks just because I don't want to talk about work at dinner? I am tired of being a freak - if I would have artistic talent, I would be an eccentric artist, and people would admire me ... but being an engineer makes me a freak?! Why, just because I refuse to put thinking in front of feelings? Just because I have the courage to actually take the hard way?

I am too old for being a freak ... soon enough, the entire world will look at me with pity and say "she was a such a good student" or "her papers are so good" or "I don't understand how she did such a thing - she seemed such a nice person". And nothing else will be left behind except for these incredibly insignificant things.

About age

I like playing young and stupid. Naive, as someone just called me. I like to play the innocent that takes life like a joke (not that life does not deserve that, but I know that us, mature people, are not supposed to think of it as a joke). Why should life be good and fun? No, life is not a joke - thus it cannot be laughed at. Life is not a game, so it cannot be played with. Life is not an icecream, thus it cannot be enjoyed. Life is just something we have to endure. And still, they blame me 'cause I like to play, to laugh, to eat icecream. They blame me for being twisted and wanting to enjoy my life. They keep telling me that't not possible -- that's childish and naive and ... plain impossible. And yet, I can. And we'd all be much better without them.

Don't you hate those people that tell you that you don't understand what responsabilties are? I hate them. They just want to make you think you're crazy or mad or retarded. That you don't see life as it is ... that you have a "distorted" version of reality. Isn't schizofrenia all about that, too ? But we all pity the poor sick people. What if they are happy?

Anyway ... I guess it's my fault - I just pretend too well to be 16 and believing in being young and happy. It's my fault that people look at me in discontempt, telling me I am just naive and I will get in trouble with that, one day. Is that only envy? Maybe. But it still hurts. And that is the only problem when you're 16 ... everything hurts, because everything is close to your heart, everything is about emotions. We get old ... and we get thicker ... skin, waist, feelings... maybe not the hair. We stop being young and we start being fully responsible. Then, life passes by - no laughter, no feelings, no pain. And then, one day, we die. That's if we're lucky. Others die in long, painful weeks, and months ...
I hate those people that keep telling me I'm old. I'm more alive, than old, and that's what matters. Or not?

I wish I would know how to start a blog. Should I say "welcome all to my blog?" That would make you, implicitly, the spectators of my writings, thus somewhat passive viewers of my existance. That is mainly because I'd like to write down things that happen to me. Not because they are spectacular, but because they look spectacular. Maybe not to you, the readers or viewers, but to me. As I put them on "paper" {?! - maybe some of you would event print them], they look more special than they really are. So I am just yet another selfish person that wants to look at herself (yes, the name is Dorothy) and see more than she really is. And mirrors do not help. Maybe a blog would.
But enough complaining. It's all about "be welcome and enjoy". Maybe it's gonna be funny, though I'd rather think it's gonna be sad and too self-oriented. Thus boring. But nevertheless, somewhat public. By the way, I used to hate blogs. I also used to hate carrots. But things change, so let's give it a try. Now I'll go to buy some carrots before the next post. In the meantime, maybe I should advise you to find something better to do than wait for my writing.
Cheers!