The other week my professor going on about the different ways to comparatively relate to the I in the text and the rest. It goes something like "The I and the world", "The I and the I", "The I and the language" and the "I and ideals". I can't quite remember because I didn't fully agree, a bad tendency I have is to not always listen when I don't agree. But either way they can be applied to other arenas as well. Today for instance, this post is "The I and the I and the you". But more honestly "The I and the I", because what I feel is something that I hold myself, and can't really be shared. That doesn't necessarily mean that noone understands. There's always someone that understands, like I've said a thousand times, the worst things you can do is assume that you're that special that noone can relate to you. Neither am I. However, right this very second I'm just plain me, stripped down and emptied. Not because of lack, no no, but because I have nowhere to put it. The voids in me aren't the adequate containers, so I must turn the heat down and just simmer for a while. So rational, darling Molly, do you drown yourself in rationality when you let go of all other things you could possibly hold on to? Yes, indeed I do. Simply because I know what's on the other side I attatch myself to the rational part like an overcooked noodle to hair. Now be quiet so I can continue being rational.
Love is when happy things make you cry, when a tickle makes you so angry you want to throw up. Love is when you know that sometimes love is not enough. Love is accepting that you can't be the air that someone breathes, the only thought, the understanding that you can't be everything to someone else. Because surely, you're not enough even for yourself, are you? Love is when you pout because you ruined your own suprise, just because you know someone well enough to know when they're planning a surprise. Love is being able to pout, but also being able to give something up for someone else. Love doesn't complete you, it doesn't make you whole, it's simply the water when you're thirsty, but once that desire is satisfied it's due to come back. What might have seemed like a wind up doll gets worn out and you must try harder, and the harder you try the bigger your perspective gets, and those details aren't only details but the essence of the life you built. Together.
Later, you'll find that for some reason the building blocks started to crack, way down there in the foundation, while you were piddling on top so you must dive down, deep under the sea to see to them. In doing that, someone must stay at the surface to make sure the whole building doesn't collapse. No more sorting the very top then. Even if not in the same place the same goal is at sight, even when it might not feel like it when you have your head buried in the sand.
Even though it's hard to, you're able to, you have to as failure is not an option. I don't fail. I fall down and break bones, but only because it's part of the game. And while I see other constallations just starting, others thriving, some treading carefully, some one sided, some including lies, I avoid looking at myself and just what it is that I have. Or had. Or will have. That is something I do in fact have at the moment, past tense, present and futurum. Basically life and love are grammatical errors about timing and chances.
It's all texts and textures, interchangeable but irreplacable. So maybe later, one day you'll help me change the textiles, I can't quite reach myself, and I know you don't like me climbing on stuff, you know, due to my tendency to fall down.
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