I am writing this from my newly purchased desk. It is a 5 by 2 foot desk that barely lets the palms of my hands rest against it. It is too small for a typing space but somehow still large enough to take up a corner of my room. One desk lamp illuminates the back of my hands as the rest of the light creeps to the corners. There is a slight drizzle outside, the streets are wet enough to show hints of a reflection. But I want to reflect. Today and tonight in particular have really inspired me to write something, I dont care if it turns out to be something like a journal entry. Some how all of my typing ends up being like this but its okay. I once again find myself wanting to talk about love. I dont know why this topic fascinates me so. I keep thinking, when is my time. Where is my person. Will I ever be happy (Which is a question that is beyond the scope of my life. And where do I begin when it comes to my ideal idea of love. It’s been a year since Abigail and it really has me thinking. Not necessarily about her but the rain reminds me of her. All of the windows open, the smell wafting the room. The rumble of the neighbors air-condition unit. and the palm of her hand on my chest. It all feels so vivid despite my willingness to forget.
Why should I want to forget, because when you feel like you have a choice of love, the idea puts you on a trampoline. You can jump higher but there is a possibility that you might not like where you land. Or how high you jump. Sometimes the trampoline just breaks and breaks you. Bad analogy? Maybe. But thats what it felt like.
Even more than the hand on my chest, I remember the tears on my sheets. Turning the white comforter a shade of cloudy grey. Faint sobs over the air-condition unit. The dryness of my cheeks. The red in her eyes. It was not all great. Especially when the hint of romance polluted the smell of dew. My memory is foggy but the ideas were clear. Jumping on a trampoline is no fun when you’re alone. She was alone. Or I wasn’t jumping. I dont know at this point. My emotions have always been difficult to reign in. im either all in, or wishy washy. Theres no in between. I have been feeling over the course of the last year like I don’t actually know what my emotions are. I have been trying to find it inside of rom coms, love stories, my own stories and I have come up disappointed. A feeling of excitement is always fleeting. I wish I could love fully but it seems like it always takes too long or im just not in it in the first place.
Fuck emotions are hard.
I wonder if getting a therapist will actually help any of this. Like literally I dont know what to do. about anything. It feels like I get sucked in to something for about two weeks and im back to the hunt. I dont find excitement in other people it seems like anymore. I know you are supposed to be happy and content within yourself but what if joy is no longer there. What I the only way you find joy is in what other people create, what other people do, what other people say. Its a interesting thing to think about ya know. I mean I can creAte music but will it ever mean as much to me as someone else’s story, what someone else writes. Whats the point in creating when what you create doesn’t resonate with you as much as someone else’s creation. I am finding ll sorts of roots in this shit and there is still an iceberg underneath I just cant quite think of all of it as it comes. Its way too much.
I think what excited me about Sulgi is that she was different, but not different in the sense that everyone says, I would say she was a change of scenery. Yes I only met her once but she was so much fun, and I was so ready to jump. Fucking trampoline.
The morning after our drunken night I hadn’t felt that much at peace in a long time. the hangover was excruciating, enough to make me crave decapitation. We kissed that night ( under the influence) but damn was it nice and damn did I want a sober one. The gentlemanly thing to do was to take her home, give her some water and make sure she had somewhere to…. release. I slept on the floor that night, because who wants to be in bed with another drunk person, doesn’t sound like a good idea especially for the guy. I made the right moves, or lack thereof and woke up smiling. I had spent the night and actually wanted to care for someone. It made me feel like jumping. Crouching low before shooting for the stars. It was daytime and no stars were seen, the mood doesn’t count as a star fyi. But I cooked breakfast, refilled water, made sure she had the right things. Sometimes a plant dies even when you water it. Too much will kill it. I think I killed our romance that morning when I gave the pants to her. Each move I made put in anail in my own emotional coffin. No kiss, no nothing. If by doing everything right, you get nothing, do you win? Is the morality of you compas trump the emotional needs yourself. does the yearning for another rupture your well being. At this point the answser is yes.
Of course I can TRY and be happy and act like it doesnt matter but it does. I can act like not loving doesn’t phase me but it hurts. I can put on a smile but it’ll be gone once the clock strikes. So honestly whats the fucking point. Like honestly, what isa the point of feeling like shit and tryhing your hardest but not getting anywhere. Effort, effort effort. They say procrastination is the theif of time. But I think effort is equally so. When you effort goes un answered. Requests expired. Love, broken. What the fuck is the point.
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