A Moment

...to think, and slightly to moderately overthink. Now a twist. Embracing the moment, without anticipation or reluctancy; without hesitation or fear. More than this. Colliding with it. Becoming an integral part of it, because the moment is all you feel and all you need. Being lost in it without the captivating desire to be found, without maintaining the illusion of reality. Forgetting about time and its control. The moment is resistent to its power. The moment is imperfect, but is pure in its flaws. You can see through it, but you cannot know is it true or is it not. Then afterall the moment remains untouched and tended on its own.

Knowing

A spider.
Crawling.
On the white wall.

Then you open your eyes and realise it was a dream. You have fallen asleep. Unintentionally. You were scared. You were actually scared for your life. You woke up and it was all a dream. A nightmare. But why it does not feel so? It is over, you thought. Then why does it still feel this way?
Wide awake.
You look behind and check the wall. Twice. No sign from it. How can it be possible? Seconds ago it was there. You were certain. You knew. It felt so real. It feels.
Now?
You close your eyes and then you open them again. You can't remember the dream, can you? All you can recall is the spider. Crawling. You saw it, did not you? You felt it.
You did not feel the spider, did you? It was not it that you feared. It was not the reason. You know. You cannot lie.
Breathe.
You are awake now. Yet you still feel threatened. You don't need to ask why, do you? Cause you know. You always, always know. But knowing does not help, does it? It does not change a thing. Yes, you wish it did. Don't ask yourself the same question. Stop it. It is not over. It will not be over anytime soon. It cannot be.

It was not just a dream, was it?

House of Cards

There are moments when her life resembles a house of cards.
She designed it, projected it, and built it. Card by card. Then a card fell down, followed by another, and another until it was almost slowly ruined. But just like with life, she decided to build it up again.
To try. 
And so she did. Some cards were not at their places anymore, and in a result the house did not appear to be as complete as it once was, but she still attempted to take good care of it despite its fragality.
She tried. 
Nevertheless, smilar to life, trying does not seem enough. Her efforts have become failures, and the house... does not look like a house anymore. It is all broken now. She cannot revive it, nor position even half of the cards. They are missing. The wind has sent them away.
Still she cannot stop but asking the same old and ongoing question when would it be time to stop trying and simply forget instead...

Perhaps

...it is a chain reaction.
I should not think of him, or even slightest letting myself liking him. He makes me angry. I become even angrier looking at his eyes.
Perhaps
...I don't like their colour.
In order to stop this vicious circle, I need an external and detached distraction.
Writing.
The pieces that are moderately tolerable need inclination. And what's better than seeing the Fragment.
Meeting him.
Being few inches away. Exchanging glances. Catching a sight of his deep and breath rhythm disturbing dark eyes. Being drown in by them. Then writing comes easily. It is effortless, smooth and profound. Not seeing him, leads to not good enough presented words, disturbed sequence, and no coherence in my thoughts, because all of them are storm clouded by my emotions towards the person I least want to feel anything.
Perhaps
...now this is something not to write about.

Clarity

...rarely comes fast and almost never lasts.

***
Cream chiffon dress left untouched on the floor in the middle of the room,whilst the carpet still looked moderately tidy, regardless of the surrounding mess. The heating was set too high and made the air rather dry than warm. She kicked her shoes off as soon as she unlocked the door and entered the room. She got rid of her jacket in the same manner she did with the shoes and forced it to make company to the abandoned dress. She rushed to open the window and only then she allowed herself to breath in and out after realising that she had witholded her breath for far too long. Instantly, this brought her with the unfabricated sense of relief that she so much craved for during this prolonged and dreadful day.
And as she started to remove her earrings, she could not help herself but revisit the same places of her mind that she unsuccessfully tried not to. The rhythm of her thoughts being replayed was barely interrupted by the sounds of the wind welcoming itself through the forgotten window. She closed her eyes and exhaled for a brief second, then she hastily put her shoes back on, gathered her jacket from the floor, and left the room as quickly as she had entered it eight minutes ago. She ran down the stairs, opened the front door and slammed it behind. And then she knew what she had to do.

...

In Deep Water

It is kind of ironic how I have an endless bundle of thoughts in my mind, but they cannot be expressed in writing. So many thoughts, all of them far too homogeneous, because-
he dominates them all.

One of the reasons I am not allowed to write my thoughts down is because of the fear that they are actual feelings and we all know how bad I deal with feelings. I suspect I have never learnt the craft of proper feelings management. Afterall I am 90% assembled of emotions and all of them make my life a bit harder, especially in moments like this. I have thought that I am done with all that nonsense, I guess I was wrong, once more with... feeling.

If someone has the power to find the switch on button of your feelings, does he still leave you with the power of switching them off? I can't stop myself but wonder do I have any power at all.
I had no intention in implanting feelings, I had no intention in designing thoughts and flawed expectations, while I am slowly becoming a wrecked ship in this illusional world, where he is the sea, holding all the power over me.

And while I make my last attempts not to lose this battle, the sea waves take me deeper and further away from the shore than I have ever been before.

Improvisado

I want to erase everything in me,
everything that feels,
that aches, that screams...
I want to be part of the air
and feel free like the wind.
I want to be friends with the sea,
its blues and greens,
still being calm and sometimes angry,
but not feeling anything indeed...
just the sand beneath.
If I can't have myself back,
and if things hardly ever work out
then I don't want to be part of this,
and I will not have any other option,
but choose the simplicity of being out of reach.

And Then

Wide open window, blurred by the raindrops leaving their mark on it. Faint sun light restrained by the white effortless flowing clouds. Falling crumpled brown and dark red leaves, reminding of the season. Crispy cool air, neither cold, nor warm. Sounds of soft and melodic rain, accompanied with those of the airplanes disturbing the peacefulness of the sky. And it is blue, so clear blue. The kind of blue you want to drown in and get up and so you could drown in again. Accentic smell of tangerines, mixed with the so familiar one coming from the falling rain. And then is the moment when you look up, you see the sky, the moving clouds, you feel the rain, and you decide to go on.

A tale of me and dreaming

Now it's time to mention the thing about me and dreaming or more specifically how I broke up with it. I still have hopes and expectations, but dreaming is no more an option for me. Actually, as I've been thinking today, I don't remember when I stopped being a dreamer and when I have become this absolute annoying realist who many of you would probably call a pathetic pessimist. But, no surprises here. I guess it happened between the time I made foolish choices and the time when my decisions were turned into actions and consequently into circumstances.

Slowly or suddenly I started to resent dreaming and not include it in my busy schedule. Thus, dreaming became frustrated with me and we got into a quarrel. We even broke few plates (not the greek-weddings-way). Words have been exchanged and then we have decided to take a break or time to re-evaluate our relationship. However, I am not certain whether I want to get back to dreaming. I haven't been feeling happier without it, but I've probably felt more in control of preventing the inevitable risk of disappointment, the one I hate with passion.
Frankly speaking, me and dreaming may never get back together. Even if we do, there is high probability that nothing would be the same again.

I guess it was not meant for us to stay strong and remain together...

Found and Lost

''It was the laughter, the carefree laughter, the three-dimensional Coca-Cola advertisement that you were, the try-anything-once friends, the imperviousness to all that came before you, the chain telephone calls, the in-jokes, the instant music, the sunlight you carried with you, the way he felt when you spoke to his parents, the introductory undergraduate courses, the inevitability of your success, the beach houses, the white lace underwear, the private dancing, the good-graced acceptance of part-time shift work, the apparent absence of expectations, the ever-changing disposable cults of rural, the family, the eastern, the classical, the modern, the postmodern, the impoverished, the sleekly deregulated, the feminine, the feminist, and then the way you canceled with the air of one making a salad.'' - Seven Types of Ambiguity.

How am I supposed to write a blog post after reading this bit of masterpiece? It is impossible, because this little gem is pure beauty and that's it.

***
To say the least I know why I thought of you today,
to say the least I know why I found myself rarely thinking of you,
and to say the least I do not live in the past, so I cannot keep remembering you.
But to finally say the least, I am not even slightest glad that I met you.

I have felt like being on and off for a couple of days. The good and the-not-so-good-ones. Today I could not even say which one of them it was. I painted. I did not like the final result though. It was supposed to be an abstract made of sunset colours and splash of blue. I looked at few photographs and I gave away few smiles. Not real ones. I felt like swimming, but needless to say I did not actually do it. Maybe I should have. I miss the feeling it brought. Being free. I miss even the unmissable. And maybe I even miss you. Not because you were broken, and not because I was broken, but simply, because it seems that I cannot find myself anymore without being lost a bit more...

To October

The famous quote ala 'If you don't have what to say, it's better not to say anything' does not really work for me as you have probably already noticed.
I never really have what to say or write, but at the end there is always something written or said.

***

Dear October, or should I say 'why, October, why'?

I am not planning to write a poem about you, so don't hope.
You are a bit weird. I think we all can agree on that. There is nothing you can do about it. You start with anxiety and you end with such including cold weather. Then, you have your proper share of scary or should I say inappropriate clothing along with massive gatherings of people that usually end with hangovers and uninhibitted behaviour. But, hey, no one is blaming you. This can happen (and it does happen) to every other month minus the weird attire.
To be honest, cause let's face it, I am always honest (or I am trying to), I am not a fan of yours. Me and you have nothing in common. For me, you are just preparation for coldness, indoors and tons of sweaters. I am not fan of that as well. Nevertheless, just after 43 days of your beginning, I am getting a year older. Each year is different, but I cannot lie that this year is a bit more different than the rest. We both know it and you made it clear from your first day that you are not going to let me age easy or painless. But could not you wait at least a day? You have 31 days and you start from the first? This is not a fair game.
Above all of the things I am not fan of, disappointment is in the top position. And still you do not miss opportunity to make me feel it. Did your fellow September miss telling you about it? I did not like it. I did not like then, for sure I don't like it now. September was mean from the beginning till the end, but I hoped you would be different. Misleading a girl like that is beyond unacceptable. I am ashamed of you, October.
Besides disappointment, you also posed to me questions and doubts I am not able to answer. All I could do is just wait and fight, but we know that I suck at both. 
Please, October, don't feel bad for me, I will be fine. I am sure that you will do a great job as a month and have a lot of happy people during your stay even if I am not one of them.

Yours truly,

Hello world, I am your weird girl.

Yep, no kidding. Another day is gone and life is short. You don’t believe me, well don’t listen to the song with the same title then, and I so should not either. It reminds me of the glory days when I was young and first year university student. Now, I am still young, but not that young and not getting younger. The lack of Internet gets me creative or plain boring, you decide... or not. One is sure, I would rarely listen to this selection of songs in other circumstances (hint: with uninterrupeted internet connection). They are just one-way ticket to Memorylane and we all know, you all know what influence it has on me. Can you really blame me, like really, really? Blame the music in general. Everyone links some songs to some life events or also books in my case along with nail polish (weird, I know).

I am not sure whether or what I am waiting for. I just know that my dreams are getting more bizzare and my thoughts are getting more worn out. And here I am staring at this screen trying to get my words sorted out and it simply does not work. Perhaps it’s true, perhaps the happy people are not wandering in the past even in the background of some crappy song. But happiness is not that simple, perhaps happiness is simple for the simple and complex for the complex ones. Perhaps... I am all wrong, perhaps there is a meaning I cannot or should not figure out. Why would I want to know everything anyway? What difference would this make? More thoughts? More conclusions? More complexity? Who needs that in their simple lives? Do I even want simplicity?

I spent yesterday browsing  and planning to read tons of books evolving around the same neverending complex issue, because who needs simplicity when they have reading?

...I am that close to find out finally what I really want and all I can do is paint it or write it all  out and I don’t think that there is a such thing called coincidence.

...'Put your hands on the wheel and let the golden age begin', followed by this slow, mellow melody which simply melts through my senses and memories.

It is almost 2 am and I am not really supposed to go into memorylane listening to this song without a canvas in front of me, but I have just seen it in my Youtube's watch history panel and I could not resist.

The road, the sunshine, the sounds, the smell of summer, everything is so real during these few seconds. It's like I am there again and it is this moment again when everything is confusing and not in place, but somehow it felt comforting. I felt comforted for a while. I wish I could change few things back then, including me. Recalling those moments, I cannot restrain myself from regreting that I did not make them perfect. I should have done differently, but I did not. I was too occupied of thinking about everything that did not really matter. I was literally wasting my energy and time instead of just letting myself be completely drifted away in this moment, in this sheer peacefulness, which was not complete.

Nevertheless, it is all in the past: my wasted thoughts, worries... And they do not reappear in those imperfect and meanwhile comforting few seconds of memories. It is just the road, the sun, the car window, the warm air, the smell and sounds of summer. 

Minutes, hours, miles, me.

It is not August anymore, it is not summer anymore. It was not the summer I know. It was only a glimpse, a catch, just a snapped moment. I did not really have a summer this year. All my fault, I confess. I am not sure I will have one, it just cannot be the same. With every each passing year, nothing seems to be the same. And I have this bad habit of disliking change, cause why would I want to change something, which was and felt good? Why would I want to stop listening to Brand New when I feel like a line from their lyrics, just like this at this moment? Maybe this is all I can be sometimes- a line of emotions with no end and no beginning.

Truth to be said, I am not sure how long I can maintain this charade of me trying not to care, not to be bothered by anything and anyone. It is all a facade, but a pointless one. A day, a week and another few? How long would it take to fix things unless they are beyond repair? In that case, it is just like watching myself from aside. Even the words seem useless, probably they are quite useless. Why would I need them, what good they can do to me? What good anything would do at this point? Please ignore the question marks at the end of the last sentence, it was not supposed to be really there, probably just like this whole little text was not supposed to be here, and I can also think of other few things.

...
'Every minute is a mile, I have never felt so hallow'.

Panta Rhei (Πάντα ῥεῖ)

I spent the past week typing and typing, writing and writing to the total number of 8 pages, full of thoughts, book rants and raves, self-analysing, flashbacks, and again thoughts. I didn't forget to mention the conclusions, cause there were none. I still plan on continuing the writing process in this little file with the simple 'untitled' as a name for it. However, I came to realization and with it hopefully will come the right decisions. Regardless of all that crap and jazz I have been writing about recently, I finally feel free. Yes, free. There is no more need of Beck and his Sea Change, cause the sea has already changed.

Panta Rhei-everything flows, everything changes.

Same with people, same with feelings, same with me.
I am finally free.
I am finally content and this is good. This is what it probably should be. It's time to stop rushing into faux expectations and stop following my impatient impulsivities, which can be easily called mistakes, because they were nothing more and nothing less than results of my little chaos of emotions. But I want to believe that my chaos can also change and become a bit more organised.

I am aware that this is not some deep, meaningful, or wisecrack post, but it's me and even though I would love to write deep and meaningful posts, I would still love to be and write...me.

'Baby you are lost...lost cause,
I am tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause.'

All words are gone, just these lyrics stuck in my head on repeat with the music being my emotional mirror reflection, and it seems to work. But it was not supposed to be like that, it was never the initial plan, you know? I want my words back, I want my old thoughts, you were not supposed to take them away from me. Staring at the black keys of my keyboard, looking at these white letters on it and wondering which to use so I could form my words, and I do not really know.They all mean the same. They all mean...you.

It's not like Beck is on repeat, it feels like I am on repeat. Repeating the same old lines, the same phrases, images, just like grandma used to say 'your thoughts are like a film tape'. However, the thing she does not know is what film is currently playing on it. That's good, cause if she knew, she would look at me questionably and ask 'Don't you have a life to live?' and I would just laugh as usual, because what else could I reply to this so simple and meanwhile paraplexing question. She is more than right and I am more than wrong, but you took my words and I was almost convinced that it's a fair trade.
But, you know, Beck is wiser and older. I am tired, tired of playing you on repeat in my mind's film tape, so it might be about time to change that damn tape.

Expresar,Esprimere,Exprimer...

I do not know how many posts I have left to write and how many paintings to paint so I would finally feel free again.
And I wish I knew.
I do not know how much thoughts I have left to give, emotions to reveal and energy to waste.

My words seem useless, my thoughts seem clouded and my canvas is overcrowded with colours.

So please, just wake me up when I am back to myself, because I am running out of patience, I am running out of colours,
and I am running out of words.

Let's play 21 questions before sleep

Why do we constantly and so relentlessly chase the wrong kind/way of things?

This leads to the next question without an universal answer- what is 'the wrong kind' and what is the right one, and can we ever know the difference between them before we take the action and bear the consequences?
All these lame, frantic questions and not a single solution in case we are searching for one, because I am and it is hard to find.
They (i.e., the people, society, pop culture, media, science) are trying to convince us that it's normal to want, wish, desire and chase, but is it 'normal' to pursue when it is wrong? Why we have to rely on our own judgement for that, but not for what everyone and everything considers normal? And before jumping to another dead-end question I will give my-sleepless-best to put in words whatever is stuck in my mind.
I want things, you want things, we all want all sorts of things. By things you can also count human beings or whichever beings you want to ('want' again,ah), and we generally aim to pursue what we want.
So far, so good. However, here comes the tricky part: is it normal/good/right to want and therefore, pursue things that do not really seem suitable for us? And by 'not suitable', I mean those that are not really working in our favours, that cause us endless circulation of thoughts, sleeplessness, confusion and self-questioning, along with few others.
At the end (yes, it does not even matter), I can come to the idea that it is not right to want something, which might be generally wrong. But, why do we still want these kind of stuff? Why do we have to chase what is not clearly meant for us, or when do we know for sure is it or not? How many attempts are allowed before we reach the alarming neon sign that shouts 'Just stop it and go on already!'?
So, yeah, I do not really know the answers and I have no clue whether I am on the right track. Aristotle seemed to know how to reach the 'golden balance' between two opposite sides, but apparently I am no Greek philosopher and it might be time to catch that neon sign and hold it until I finally achieve the frustrating sentence written on it.

...Because we had nothing else better to do

I kept performing the same repetative behaviour consisting of thoughts, words and images every night after 12 o'clock for a week. And finally on the 5th time, everything became clear. I revisited the past, because of the memories, because I might actually like them.
For the first time in few months I could take my mind back there without disappointment, bitterness or hurt.
 Every sensible part of me screams that I should hold on anger and do everything I can to forget, but am I that crazy or unreasonable person who keep wanting to remember and feel?
It might all be an illusion, a lie, an act, but for a certainty I know that I started and ended it as a game. A game, which I strongly intended to win. However, I still catch myself wondering who was close enough to winning and I wish I could ask you, but meanwhile I wish that I would never have the chance, because the question and answer itself may change everything. Thus, it is useless to say that I do not have any desire to have my memories changed, because the moments captured in these memories are powerful, imperfect, bright and grey, overcoming, but confusing, meaningful and deep, wrong and right, raw, but real, like me, like you.
 Afterall, there is a high chance for me to turn out being this awful and cold person, but still all I did was feeling and falling.
Complex and disastrous as it is, complex and unreasonable as I might be...

...I felt and I fell.

I was quite certain that I would remember that moment long enough, but it seems that my memory is doing mind tricks with me. And I thought I was the only one who could perform them with such preciseness...

Cider, faint perfume scent and the chilly late night breeze, released out of the slightly opened window.
I felt and I fell.
My mind became blunt and my thoughts were not there anymore. They left to make space for my cloudless emotions going through every nerve of my body; making me feel effortless and free like never before. I was sharply aware of every motion around me and meanwhile I felt like was not even there.
...The magical effect of cider ran out of me rather quickly and I was unpleasently surprised by my awakened acute senses that wanted to remind me of their existence and punish me for my disregard of them.
Still I managed to get around my mind so I could process every bit, along with every gaze, every touch, every slow breath and every sigh.

Don't you forget?

''...One for the now and eleven for the later''

I was not supposed to write anything recently, but there was this thing called my sister's writing that changed my mind and here I go again on my own, the only way that I seem to know. I have spent most of my conscious life analysing myself and trying to find out why I react in particular ways during particular situations, so I would finally reach to the point when I would know what is that wrong with me. And do you know what, well you probably do: I have not found out yet. And indeed it does not hurt only when I laugh.
Days after days, I test myself on these quests when I would either win or lose the battle between me and my messed up self.

I wish I knew a lot of things, I wish I changed a lot of things and I so much wish I found a way to get through all this. I thought I knew, I thought I changed and I so much thought that I found that damn way. But the reality, the truth and our illusions or assumptions are never the same thing. Thus, yes, here I go again. The more I try to live, it seems that the more I tend to feel. The battle will probably never end in favour of me, because this messed up self I have will always find ways to win me over and over until there is probably nothing left.

When we know it is wrong, we move along.

I had the intentions of writing a post for days, but my thoughts could not be formulated into sentences. This will be something like a note, which I would like to keep for future references.
...There are moments in life when we do not feel like ourselves. We realize it and then we strongly wish to bring our old selves back. However, it does not happen so fast due to various different reasons, but we still hang on that thought and keep trying, because some morning (or noon) we will wake up and we will simply know. Realisation is the first step, followed by the efforts, which may fail, but we keep trying until it works. After that beaming moment when you finally understood that it is not really you and it's like living a double life, it is time to let go and move along (yes,like I know you do). It should not necessarily be that serious or dramatic. The beauty in this process might be that you are a step closer to what you really want, need or the knowledge of who you are and who you want to be.
When you feel that something is not right, do not close eyes for the sake of sustaining what you think you have. If you feel that it might be wrong, then it probably is. The minute you are left with the choice between finally listening to your inner voice and keep pretending, take a deep breath, think and choose wisely.

Another night, another party

I found myself reading Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, while drinking cherry tea with cinnamon and my mind was not quite there. It is a pleasant, quiet evening, an hour to midnight and I am...just not there. I blame the exhausting hectic day full with all kinds of irritations and work, but I can also blame myself and this is the part I wanted to avoid. It is just another night like the others and I am being myself, but something is not quite right.
The good thing is that I turned out to be right, which still gives me this satisfying feeling, even though it was not the outcome I may wanted it to be. Frankly speaking, I love being right and I do everything I can to make things right. However, this kind of right is not the right I wanted, but it might be the right I need, which I cannot forseen so far. I know that I make events and people-related moments more complicated than they should be and I can prevent that from happening. Still, I find something charming in the complexity and when things get back to their simplier form, it is shortly followed by well-known disappointment. I know that I make no sense at all.
In short, I can only say that I should be smarter than this and make better use of my words.
 Yes, my actions speak for themselves and I so should have spoken less...

One more, please

Everyone in life experienced one or sometimes an abundance of those moments when you have already known the outcome of certain actions, but you performed them anyway.
To be honest now I know what everybody was talking about, but it does not feel even slightest relieving or less frustrating that I have already predicted this turn of events. Prediction does not necessarily means prevention. The awareness that everything would get so wrong or whatsoever could not prevent you from fuilfilling what you already had in mind. The reasons might be different for everybody, but for me they are just simple: I wanted to live and feel everything. I felt like I was running in a cage with no exit, no colour and no excitement. It still feels this way, but once you set yourself free you might never be the same. This is the good part and here comes the bad one: You find yourself in the middle of a battle between all kinds of emotions, each emotion trying to get advantage over the other until the moment when you just cannot hold this fiasco and want to shut yourself down...And then perhaps you will be shortly followed by numbness.
I came to the conclusion, in result of few sips of Gin, that there might not be a wrong or a right decision if the outcome is the same. At the end you will feel the same shatterness regardless what you have chosen. However, the catch might be that you can never really know what something could or could have not been, because all you have is one shot and one choice. Thus, I dare to say that we should not underestimate the power of emotions and overestimate our inner strength to control them, because once they reach us, there might be no way back...

An Interpretation

'Picture perfect memories scattered around the floor.
It's a quarter after 1, I am alone.
And I need you now.
Yes, I would rather hurt then feel nothing at all.'

The lyrics sound good, but they do not sound right. Not to me. I would lie to myself and to the world if I say that the memories were perfect. They were not, neither was you, nor perhaps me. They were just confused and disillusional like you and hopeful like me. However, such combination of memories have nothing in common, just like us. But it is too easy written on the screen and too frustrating convincing myself with it.
The second line of the lyrics is true. Not just quarter after one, half one or two, three. It is basically all the time, the time before you, the time with you and the time without you.
Then we come to the third line. It is false. I do not need you now. I needed you before, months ago, but now I just need the hurt to go and I know that it will, but then I will be back to myself. My old self, which I do not recognize anymore, the one I have not encounter since years. I do not want my old self back. It was defensive, building walls after walls, jumpy, impulsive and self-destructive. Only a fool would want that and maybe I am no fool anymore. I am no fool for anything. I breathe, I eat, I smile and rarely I laugh. All these things without you. And I do not need you, neither I miss you. You know that and you miss it, but you are too messed up to see and I am too exhausted to care.
..And the fourth line, my favourite one. It is quite controversial and I am quite controversial. Therefore, I can assume that for a moment I agree with it, that I would prefer feeling this pain instead of nothing at all. But only if this nothingness is just like my emptiness, because I absolutely do not want it back. I still catch myself wondering in moments like this, whether I would turn the time back if I had this 'opportunity'. I am not merely certain, but I would rather keep it as it is.
...Thus, I guess I am on my way to get rid of the hurt and welcome the emptiness.

...

...And here I am now, standing on the floor, holding my paintbrush and staring at the palette of colours without wondering which one to pick, because I knew from the beginning- I will use them all. Just like my feelings for you-I used them all. I thought I exhausted all emotions I held, all the frustration and confusion and still here I am having so much more to give, so much more to feel.

I look at this blank white piece of paper and I want to fill it with colours, with motion, but it still seems so blank. The blue is not blue enough, the orange is just plain and the red is too bright. You probably remember, I rarely use the black and it remains to be one of your favourite colours.

The brush strokes seem unnatural to me. I make an attempt to change my technique, but it still feels so...dull. I touch the canvas and the paint on my fingertips feels like being barefoot underwater. Then the brush becomes unwanted and I boldly touch the paint with my both hands and splash it over the blank piece of paper. A brush does not seem enough to me, just like your love does not seem enough to me.
I look at the painting and I feel...well the same I felt a week ago. The same I will probably feel onward, the same feeling I want to splash with paint just like I do with the canvas. Just like you did with me and just like you want to forget, because it is so easy, so... you.

...And here I am now, writing this, staring at the blank white screen, but this time it is filled with words. All of them black. I still use my fingertips, but sadly the feeling is not the same. Sadly, the satisfying feeling of paint mixture is gone and sadly I am all alone with my thoughts, which become my words. The words express feelings and the feelings, well they are all over the canvas...all over me.

...And at the end of the day, I am just another soul, and you are just another pain to me.

***

There was a moment when she received clarity. She knew that she could not continue it any longer. She took a deep breath and looked up the sky. The clouds seemed effortless in their prettiness and slow motions. The contrast between pure white and this blue colour she adored so much, seemed hopeful in its own way. She did not know what else to do or she did not want to do anything else besides staring at the little clouds and thinking how it felt being with him. Whatever she knew her feelings were, she could never be certain whether they were real, because afterall was he even real?
 Being locked in his firm embrace was like the only thing she could care or want that moment, being close to his boyish smile was something she deeply needed and then deeply regreted. Why with all bold things in her life regret always comes. She would still ask herself this, but not now, not yet. All she had now was this moment, regret can wait, she thought. Regret and upset will shortly follow her, but right now she could not care less...or more.
 She remembered their last conversation, but it was his laugh that made her lips form a slight smile and her mind took another path to where it all began, and where it would probably end. She promised herself never to need him, never to longe for him and eventually when the moment comes to let him go. Most important, she never allowed herself to love him. They both were not suited for loving each other. They both had their issues like every other person, but together they became something, which was this odd mixture between a spark and a flame.
While being with him, she did her best ignoring all the questions forming in her head, all the unspoken things she desired telling him and all the unknown she wanted to explore...And she succeeded. She managed to push away every little question mark and every bit of curiousity just by a simple glance at him. But no, she could not just glance, she kept looking at his eyes, nose and lips for minutes or seconds between each time they locked lips. He was able to make her experience feelings that were familiar to her, but never so distingushed, never so intense. He was never really hers and she was never completely his, but at the back of her mind she so much wanted to be. In fact, she did not even think about whether he felt it or knew it. He never asked her and she never let herself ask him. Serious or thought-provoking conversations had no place in their time being together, because this is all they were - a cluster of bright moments, a mixture of intense emotions and an abundance of unspoken words. And because of all that, she was sadly convinced that such thing had no place in her simple life.

Some things are better said written and some things are better left unsaid

Writing seemed easy few years ago back then when I was just a 4th grader. I started writing a book with well-structured chapters in one of my old big notebooks that were used to practice my school exercises. Everything besides writing and reading appeared off space and a year later my journal and my books were my only companions. It's not like I need pity or anything. It's just how the things were and it was the only possible way it could be in order to be the person I am now...or not. Nevertheless, past is not called 'past' for no obvious reason. History is not a good place to dig into, especially when you are 21-year-old 'adult'. Everyone has issues. This is a fact I am quite certain that it's true. Still, some issues persist through the years. They crawl into your life and observe you silently. The moment you start thinking that you are the person who has no issues, boom- there they appear. So, you welcome them and try dealing with them, sometimes by ignoring them. Living in a denial. However, I am not going to take your time by writing about denial and whatever issues people have as they decide to grow up. If growing up was ever a decision at all...

Few years later my journal was replaced with a blog and my book was replaced with so called 'stories'. If you ask me, both of them were not what I would call 'worthy'. But somehow they were worthy to me, which was more than enough at that time. The stories I wrote were not so varsatile as I would like to, but I was just a teenage girl and writing about world-wide issues was not exactly my speciality. Without falling into details about my story-writing abilities, I will jump straight into the core of this post- the writing itself. Not the complex and dynamic or monotomic process of producing a word after a word, but rather its meaning to me through the years until now.

At this point of time I would say that writing is not easy or simple at all. I fear it. Starting a story or whatever creative piece seems like something incredibly difficult to me, because I just cannot write like the authors I like and my pieces are nothing like theirs. In the last impressive book I read, one of the characters said something like that:  'Reading is the simplest thing. All you need is to read what others have written and try guessing what they meant.' Needless to say, I could not agree more. Whatever I may try writing will never seem to me as good or even as brilliant as I would want it to be. The same with painting. However, you would never know what it could be if you never even start it. But do not get me wrong, with not intent I mean to say that whatever little prose you write will be a work of genius.
...Still, some things are better said written and some things are better left unsaid.