A Little Bit About Myself

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I enjoy short walks to the cinema and then sitting down for a long period of time... Reading is good, but films are better. I like drawing, writing, filming. I don't like mushrooms and people that drink Primo One-Shot Decaf Soya Sugar-free Caramel Lattes. In all serious though, I like to be creative with whatever I happen to be able to get my hands on. I try to keep things simple, and enjoy trying new things. So I use my blog as a way to display whatever I decide is worth keeping, and I hope others like them too!

Thursday, 24 May 2012


How do I write something meaningful? No one else is going to truly empathise with another’s personal experiences, not unquestionablly. In response to this, I have chosen to throw out something that I don’t expect many to understand, and perhaps most will even view as pointless. To those who write diaries, you must feel that level of deep importance about what you write, that feeling of lifting the weight off your shoulders and pouring yourself into those pages. Yet if someone else was to read it, I doubt they would see it in quite the same way. I myself have never written a diary, and so I find this a somewhat remedying task. This isn’t designed to entertain, nor is it crafted to engage you. This is a moment, captured still,  and it’s all about the crux.

I stare at the wall before me;  to me, an endless abyss. As I write this, I have just completed a journey by foot. Mournful thoughts began to probe my mind as I walked, and soon I found myself wanting of paper.

No, these thoughts cannot simply be jotted onto a phone as i usually would when such literary inspiration comes to fancy, they are those thoughts that come too quickly to be registered and then typed afterwards; and now as I sit, I mark them equally as important as all my previously planned pieces. As I write this, for the majority of this will be straight from this point of epiphany (other than those few remarks, such as these, that were added upon further reflection), you may not like what you hear. As a matter of fact I doubt you ever will hear this, because the subject of which my wandering mind encroaches upon is the very cause of your absence to partake in that which is written.

I miss you. That’s it. The core and sound truth of what all these rushing incoherent flickers of the past tell me. We lived miles apart – and at times I found that difficult, yes – but your abscense made our frequent visits even more meaningful to me. As I dive into my fondest of memories, I emerge with a single sensory action. The touch of your bare skin against mine. The time we spent simply holding each other in the darkness were the times when I wish the world would stop spinning. How unoriginal a thought, yet true all the same. I feel this creeping death deep within my breast whenever I think of those times.

The times after when we spoke, I began to think things might be able to return to how they used to be. You treated me the same, and I felt as I always did; that you were the easiest person to talk to, and that you out of all others understood me completely and wholly. Why then, did you tell me you just wanted to be friends? After a half-year long silence I broke when confering with a so-called “friend” of yours, why did I think we could slot back together? This hole inside me, the one that you used to fit in, is the same shape as ever. But time has warped your own person, and left me empty inside.

As my thoughts drift back to those of our ease of conversation, I am forced to ask, why? Why did I feel like we as a pair could talk for days without running out of topics whereas with others I simply find myself running through the motions? The thought of the level of investment and risk involved with finding another and slowly etching away that mask we all wear when we first meet is a daunting one. The attempts I make when searching for another serious relationship leave me feeling false. I struggle on, lackluster and powerless in my constant aching desire to run all those miles just to see you again.

How can I keep running? When people ask me if I have “someone special” all I say is that I don’t anymore. No longer, past tense, gone and never again to be replaced in the same way that your innocent smile made my days glow. When they ask, I say “every girl has problems, and each one has a different one”. But what was your problem? You never said. Maybe that was it. Maybe I couldn’t see, being blinded by my adoration of you, or perhaps we simply faded apart and I was left still smiling at your shadow.

At this point I begin to question whether or not I should even continue to compose this. What will it serve other than to cause ridicule from others, or to anger you? But I want to see this through, for the moments we shared together.

One more thought...

This is it. I can feel these last few reflections building up and I don’t want them to slip away. Will I even make it home in time? I want to keep all of this fresh in my mind yet I don’t feel like I can hold it all. Emotional thoughts spill out of memory like a bucket overflowing with too much water.

I love you.

There have been times when people have explained the concept of puppy love to me when i’ve mentioned that I have claimed to be in love twice. I look at other couples and think to myself that they don’t really know what love is either. Are any of these relationships real, or are they all acting as falsley as I felt I did after you? My friends, they describe their relationships in such a way that leaves me wondering if the person they “love” even knows who they really are. And now I stand as a hyprocrite, because I say: I. Love. You. I probably don’t know what true love is either, maybe “true” love doesn't even exist - A fictional creation designed to create a psychological catalyst for our hormones to take over all sense and reasoning – But I do. I felt like I was actually honest with you. You were my best friend all the way through my most difficult times with the first girl I “loved”. You were there when I was messed around by others after too. You knew what kind of person I was when it came to relationships yet you still liked me.

But without you, how can I like myself?

Dedicated to someone who will remain without a name.

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