…or so it says about me…
Girl.
In love.
Heartbroken.
Sitting under an olive tree.
Wishing.
Waiting.
Hoping you would be doing the same.
Or maybe not…
Do you want to play truth or dare?
Dare me!!!
Because the truth is that I’m all broken, and that I can’t feel anything…
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Feeling extremely Indigo these days
Or is it an Indian?
Or a Nomad?
A Saint?
Something in between, perhaps.
Ghost, Indigo Girls
There’s a letter on the desktop
That I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to
In our adolescent war
And I start to feel the fever
From the warm air through the screen
You come regular like seasons
Shadowing my dreams
And the Mississippi’s mighty
But it starts in Minnesota
At a place that you could walk across
With five steps down
And I guess that’s how you started
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me
And I start to drown
And there’s not enough room
In this world for my pain
Signals cross and love gets lost
And time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits
I need you the most
I’m in love with your ghost
I’m in love with your ghost
Dark and dangerous like a secret
That gets whispered in a hush
(don’t tell a soul)
When I wake the things I dream about you
Last night make me blush
(don’t tell a soul)
And you kiss me like a lover
Then you sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river
Play your memory like a piper
And I feel it like a sickness
How this love is killing me
I’d walk into the fingers
Of you fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity
I’ve never been this close
I’m in love with your ghost
Unknowing captor
You never know how much you
Pierce my spirit
But I can’t touch you
Can you hear it
A cry to be free
Oh I’m forever under lock and key
As you pass through me
Now I see your face before me
I would launch a thousand ships
To bring your heart back to my island
As the sand beneath me slips
As I burn up in your presence
And I know now how it feels
To be weakened like Achilles
With you always at my heels
This bitter pill I swallow
Is the silence that I keep
It poisons me I can’t swim free
The river is too deep
Though I’m baptized by your touch
I am no worse than most
In love with your ghost
You are shadowing my dreams
(in love with your ghost)
(in love with your ghost)
(in love with your ghost)
Or a Nomad?
A Saint?
Something in between, perhaps.
Ghost, Indigo Girls
There’s a letter on the desktop
That I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to
In our adolescent war
And I start to feel the fever
From the warm air through the screen
You come regular like seasons
Shadowing my dreams
And the Mississippi’s mighty
But it starts in Minnesota
At a place that you could walk across
With five steps down
And I guess that’s how you started
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me
And I start to drown
And there’s not enough room
In this world for my pain
Signals cross and love gets lost
And time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits
I need you the most
I’m in love with your ghost
I’m in love with your ghost
Dark and dangerous like a secret
That gets whispered in a hush
(don’t tell a soul)
When I wake the things I dream about you
Last night make me blush
(don’t tell a soul)
And you kiss me like a lover
Then you sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river
Play your memory like a piper
And I feel it like a sickness
How this love is killing me
I’d walk into the fingers
Of you fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity
I’ve never been this close
I’m in love with your ghost
Unknowing captor
You never know how much you
Pierce my spirit
But I can’t touch you
Can you hear it
A cry to be free
Oh I’m forever under lock and key
As you pass through me
Now I see your face before me
I would launch a thousand ships
To bring your heart back to my island
As the sand beneath me slips
As I burn up in your presence
And I know now how it feels
To be weakened like Achilles
With you always at my heels
This bitter pill I swallow
Is the silence that I keep
It poisons me I can’t swim free
The river is too deep
Though I’m baptized by your touch
I am no worse than most
In love with your ghost
You are shadowing my dreams
(in love with your ghost)
(in love with your ghost)
(in love with your ghost)
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
In Retrospective...
Pain from pearls – hey little girl
How much have you grown
Pain from pearls – hey little girl
Flowers for the ones you know
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
Secret staircase, running high
You had a hiding place
Secret staircase, running low
But they all know now you’re inside
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
Skipping stones, we know the price now
And any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
What would replace the rent with the stars above
Replace the need with love
Replace the anger with the tide
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love
Ah, the ones that you love
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
Hold on now
Are you on fire
From all the years
And what would you give
For your kid fears
What would you give
For your kid fears
What would you give
For your kid fears
What would you give for your kid fears
Your kid fears
Hey kids
Hold on
Amy Ray
It’s awful quiet here don’t you think?
Yes, it’s awful quiet here since love fell asleep…
How much have you grown
Pain from pearls – hey little girl
Flowers for the ones you know
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
Secret staircase, running high
You had a hiding place
Secret staircase, running low
But they all know now you’re inside
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
Skipping stones, we know the price now
And any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
What would replace the rent with the stars above
Replace the need with love
Replace the anger with the tide
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love
Ah, the ones that you love
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give
For your kid fears
Hold on now
Are you on fire
From all the years
And what would you give
For your kid fears
What would you give
For your kid fears
What would you give
For your kid fears
What would you give for your kid fears
Your kid fears
Hey kids
Hold on
Amy Ray
It’s awful quiet here don’t you think?
Yes, it’s awful quiet here since love fell asleep…
Wondering
I begin to wonder.
I simply woke up this morning (July 4th, 2007) wondering. I was still asleep, haven’t yet opened my eyes yet for the new day, and already was I wondering.
Is it you touching me that I miss, or is it just the touch?
Is it you kissing me that I miss, or is it just the kiss?
Is it you hugging me that I miss, or is it just the hug?
Is it you talking with me that I miss, or is it just the talk?
Is it your laugh and smile that I miss, or is it just the laugh and the smile?
You used to say how you loved my smile, how you would miss my smile when I was gone. I used to say I would miss every little detail about you. Little details not even you are aware about. Well, for example, how can you possibly know the expression on your face when you are sleeping in my arms?
Yes, I was always looking at you. So what? I love looking to what I love. Are my eyes too intense? Were you afraid I would look deep in your soul? Yes, it may be intriguing some times how deep I try to look. Something to do with a photographic memory.
Is it you I miss waking hugged to, or is it just to wake up next to someone?
How can I say that I love, I miss you, and that I would walk through life without ever letting your hand go?
I don’t even know you anymore! I never even got to know you enough. It’s never enough, is it? Not for me, it’s not. I wanted everything. I’ve shot for the moon. I missed. I’m lost in an empty and dark place. All I see surrounding me are points of light. People like calling them stars... Makes no difference. But they are so many, all so far away from where I’m standing. If I’ve missed the moon and have nothing left to for a start, how should I know which star to choose? They all boring look exactly the same. Although, they do look good together. I may as well stay just where I am, and just at them. Wait for the time to pass, wait for the planets to move, wait for another possible shot at the moon.
Yes, this is what I would do. But I can’t just wait here where I am. There’s no one here. I need a star to land my feet on. I need a purpose. Waiting isn’t a purpose, it’s a refuse to act. I need a purpose. I need a path. I don’t care if it’s the wrong one. I know it’s not for the moon I’m going now, so I have no expectations; I have no place for deceptions. I’m going and I’m not thinking about a thing, if that would ever be possible… The wind will blow me. There’s a lot of win here. It’s freezing cold.
It’s trilling to stay and watch the stars, and just wait, but enough for me, not anymore, not for any longer. I may even have a better look on the stars when staying in one, I don’t know. I may even have a glimpse at the moon, from time to time. Just imagine that!
Creating expectations. Stop! Go back. Don’t dare thinking.
And then all this about how much you are needed in my life, how much I have almost no strength left, how much my life has lost it’s meanings. Now, do stop, and think about what you are saying. How can a life have no meaning? All I am can’t be just missing you. It’s a wonderful thought, I wouldn’t mind. But that isn’t all I want to be. How can I say I love you if I’ve forgotten how to love myself? How can I say I miss you when I don’t know where I am, and I’m not missing ME?
How can I expect you to have feelings for me when I may have been just a flirt? I don’t wish to be unfair, but you have left me to think as I please. And that is what everyone tells me anyway, that I was just a flirt. Hopefully, that’s not what I feel. Most of the time…
Every thing I say takes me back to a song. ‘Most of the time…’ The Blower’s Daughter. I can’t take my mind off you, I can’t take my eyes off you. And this is how I feel, most of the times.
But you know, all this time I have left myself do nothing but crying because we can’t be together. I’m bored with so much inactivity. All I feel like doing is slap my face hard and yell at myself ‘snap out of it!’
And now, all the sudden, I wake up one morning (which may as well have been an afternoon, an evening, or late in night) and somehow I was a completely different person. I don’t know what happened. I just feel I was left to be a girl for far too long. Then, in a second I grow up a few years, a few decades. Not clock time. Mind time. But there isn’t another expression to count time, it’s seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, etc, etc, etc. I want to say a lot, so as I’m talking about the mind, and assuming my mind travels at the speed of light (my hands can never go as fast…) let me say decades of light-years. It’s like I was a girl and am now a woman. Not an all grow-up woman, but not a little girl anymore. And I’m feeling that so much has changed inside, and so much has stayed just the same. Is that possible? I don’t know.
And now I’m wondering, would you know me just now, for the first time, would you love me? And would you love me more, or less? Or simply differently? Would I still do the same mistakes? Would I believe it would be possible for us to stay together for a life-time (ok, ok, for a few years, a few decades, nothing is forever, perhaps, who knows? I don’t, so won’t argue…)? Would you still call me immature for believing so?
What’s the point of wondering when you know for sure you won’t know, when you know for sure you won’t have an answer?
Would you love me now?
Have I really changed at all?
I’m loving me. Changing is good when things are wrong. Tired of reaction, going for the action.
She loves me.
Loves me not.
Loves me.
Loves me not.
Loves me…
I do, love me, and that’s what matters!
(Until I finish writing these words, anyway…)
Ups, gone…
Did I say that I loathe you? Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?
I simply woke up this morning (July 4th, 2007) wondering. I was still asleep, haven’t yet opened my eyes yet for the new day, and already was I wondering.
Is it you touching me that I miss, or is it just the touch?
Is it you kissing me that I miss, or is it just the kiss?
Is it you hugging me that I miss, or is it just the hug?
Is it you talking with me that I miss, or is it just the talk?
Is it your laugh and smile that I miss, or is it just the laugh and the smile?
You used to say how you loved my smile, how you would miss my smile when I was gone. I used to say I would miss every little detail about you. Little details not even you are aware about. Well, for example, how can you possibly know the expression on your face when you are sleeping in my arms?
Yes, I was always looking at you. So what? I love looking to what I love. Are my eyes too intense? Were you afraid I would look deep in your soul? Yes, it may be intriguing some times how deep I try to look. Something to do with a photographic memory.
Is it you I miss waking hugged to, or is it just to wake up next to someone?
How can I say that I love, I miss you, and that I would walk through life without ever letting your hand go?
I don’t even know you anymore! I never even got to know you enough. It’s never enough, is it? Not for me, it’s not. I wanted everything. I’ve shot for the moon. I missed. I’m lost in an empty and dark place. All I see surrounding me are points of light. People like calling them stars... Makes no difference. But they are so many, all so far away from where I’m standing. If I’ve missed the moon and have nothing left to for a start, how should I know which star to choose? They all boring look exactly the same. Although, they do look good together. I may as well stay just where I am, and just at them. Wait for the time to pass, wait for the planets to move, wait for another possible shot at the moon.
Yes, this is what I would do. But I can’t just wait here where I am. There’s no one here. I need a star to land my feet on. I need a purpose. Waiting isn’t a purpose, it’s a refuse to act. I need a purpose. I need a path. I don’t care if it’s the wrong one. I know it’s not for the moon I’m going now, so I have no expectations; I have no place for deceptions. I’m going and I’m not thinking about a thing, if that would ever be possible… The wind will blow me. There’s a lot of win here. It’s freezing cold.
It’s trilling to stay and watch the stars, and just wait, but enough for me, not anymore, not for any longer. I may even have a better look on the stars when staying in one, I don’t know. I may even have a glimpse at the moon, from time to time. Just imagine that!
Creating expectations. Stop! Go back. Don’t dare thinking.
And then all this about how much you are needed in my life, how much I have almost no strength left, how much my life has lost it’s meanings. Now, do stop, and think about what you are saying. How can a life have no meaning? All I am can’t be just missing you. It’s a wonderful thought, I wouldn’t mind. But that isn’t all I want to be. How can I say I love you if I’ve forgotten how to love myself? How can I say I miss you when I don’t know where I am, and I’m not missing ME?
How can I expect you to have feelings for me when I may have been just a flirt? I don’t wish to be unfair, but you have left me to think as I please. And that is what everyone tells me anyway, that I was just a flirt. Hopefully, that’s not what I feel. Most of the time…
Every thing I say takes me back to a song. ‘Most of the time…’ The Blower’s Daughter. I can’t take my mind off you, I can’t take my eyes off you. And this is how I feel, most of the times.
But you know, all this time I have left myself do nothing but crying because we can’t be together. I’m bored with so much inactivity. All I feel like doing is slap my face hard and yell at myself ‘snap out of it!’
And now, all the sudden, I wake up one morning (which may as well have been an afternoon, an evening, or late in night) and somehow I was a completely different person. I don’t know what happened. I just feel I was left to be a girl for far too long. Then, in a second I grow up a few years, a few decades. Not clock time. Mind time. But there isn’t another expression to count time, it’s seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, etc, etc, etc. I want to say a lot, so as I’m talking about the mind, and assuming my mind travels at the speed of light (my hands can never go as fast…) let me say decades of light-years. It’s like I was a girl and am now a woman. Not an all grow-up woman, but not a little girl anymore. And I’m feeling that so much has changed inside, and so much has stayed just the same. Is that possible? I don’t know.
And now I’m wondering, would you know me just now, for the first time, would you love me? And would you love me more, or less? Or simply differently? Would I still do the same mistakes? Would I believe it would be possible for us to stay together for a life-time (ok, ok, for a few years, a few decades, nothing is forever, perhaps, who knows? I don’t, so won’t argue…)? Would you still call me immature for believing so?
What’s the point of wondering when you know for sure you won’t know, when you know for sure you won’t have an answer?
Would you love me now?
Have I really changed at all?
I’m loving me. Changing is good when things are wrong. Tired of reaction, going for the action.
She loves me.
Loves me not.
Loves me.
Loves me not.
Loves me…
I do, love me, and that’s what matters!
(Until I finish writing these words, anyway…)
Ups, gone…
Did I say that I loathe you? Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?
Blindness
Sometimes, I must confess, bored is the word to define me.
What life can a person lead stuck in the past, not letting the future become the present? Tomorrow is now today, but I haven’t left yesterday yet.
My life is a complete mess. I am making all the wrong decisions again and again. I started this blog and for a whole weekend I couldn’t stop writing. Writing comes like this to me. It takes over my mind and my hands. Impossible to stop. Then, I was forced back into work.
But why all these words? Because I need letting them out. I have written and deleted many and many before. I could just keep on doing that. Or maybe not.
It isn’t that what is bothering me just now. Instead, it’s my psychological health. How can someone loving another be kept sane? How can all this wasted love be of any good for me? What am I to you? Most probably, nothing. What is it so special about you, what power have you over me, that I can’t get over you?
Do you want to?
Of course not. Of course I don’t want to get over you. That’s the problem. That’s the main problem. The only problem…
Am I stupid, or what? You don’t want to be with me. You said so. You wanted me to be your friend. If I couldn’t, you would deal with it. I wanted us to be together very badly. I didn’t want us stop being friends. But I couldn’t be your friend. I freaked out. And you have too many responsibilities. I was immature. I was romantic and a foul. And you so extremely busy.
Is this the reason why you don’t answer my e-mails? I fear it’s not, but I hope so.
You said we would be friends for as long as I want. You lied to me. Or are you loosing your mind with all the work you need do, just as I am for not hearing from you? I know you are busy. I was told. I try not to ask for you. I’m afraid someone will tell you ‘do you know who asked for you?’ I’m afraid you would get even angrier. Are you angry?
This is far most the worse thing to bear. Do you know how this girl’s mind works? When it doesn’t know the answer, it makes conjectures, finds suitable answers, reasonable possibilities. Truthful or not, who knows?
But can you possibly be so busy that you can’t even spare two seconds to write: ‘I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me the f*** alone.’ At least I would know. At least my mind would have different stupid questions for a change to be occupied with. You are just too polite to say something like that, I think. Reading to this, you would immediately ask me stop saying the f word. My friends say you have said it already by not answering back, by your silence. Sorry, I did to hear it to be sure. I’m an old-fashion girl. I would wait for the sea to bring back my lover, I would trust the sea to take good care of you and bring you safe back to me. Yes, I need to hear it.
Can you be so busy as you said you would be? I’m selfish, please forgive me. What I was told is that you are working like crazy, not doing anything else. And that it is going on for months. I wouldn’t need anyone to tell me this. And you know I would try not to let you work so hard. No, not not to let you work so hard, simply make you spare time to relax.
How can I expect you to have two minutes to spare me, when you go into the shower and forget to wash?
Do you know?
I would take you to the shower and bathe you.
I would lay you down in bed and massage every single part of your body.
Cook you breakfast, lunch and diner every day.
Pour you fresh coffee.
Come to your office and take you out of there for half an hour just to switch your brain off for a bit.
Do your laundry, dishes and cleaning.
Do all these things I could do so you can focus on work only. And this would make you have spare time to relax.
I would remind you things, because you always forget.
I would hold you in my arms, kiss you and make you feel the most beautiful woman in the world. Because, to me, you are.
And I would leave you alone whenever you were too pissed up with everything, but hide you a sweet and a note saying how much I love you. And you would smile finding it.
Do you know how much do I still love you even when I mean nothing to you?
How blind can my love be?
How can I take my life back into track if I stubbornly keep trying the closed road leading to you?
Where can I find the strength to face another day, when you are gone the moment I open my eyes?
Oh God, please give a sign saying I will see her again, saying she will be in my arms again. Even if only once more.
Would once more make any difference?
Would once more be enough to make you understand that my love is true and can’t be drawn by the ocean between us?
Would once more be enough to calm my heart?
Would once more be enough for us to grow strong together?
It would be enough to make me the happiest person on earth. And you, I hope. For how long? For us to decide.
Why do I keep on denying the facts?
Why do I keep on believing all things are possible?
Because they are.
Because I can’t live feeling differently.
Looking out the window I see the moon, dancing gorgeous in the sky, with all the stars dancing around, trying to get closer. There is only one star near her. Well, it’s actually a planet.
Sign or no sign, the moon is smiling at me.
Can you see her?
Through the moon, I’m sending you a smile, a kiss and a hug.
What life can a person lead stuck in the past, not letting the future become the present? Tomorrow is now today, but I haven’t left yesterday yet.
My life is a complete mess. I am making all the wrong decisions again and again. I started this blog and for a whole weekend I couldn’t stop writing. Writing comes like this to me. It takes over my mind and my hands. Impossible to stop. Then, I was forced back into work.
But why all these words? Because I need letting them out. I have written and deleted many and many before. I could just keep on doing that. Or maybe not.
It isn’t that what is bothering me just now. Instead, it’s my psychological health. How can someone loving another be kept sane? How can all this wasted love be of any good for me? What am I to you? Most probably, nothing. What is it so special about you, what power have you over me, that I can’t get over you?
Do you want to?
Of course not. Of course I don’t want to get over you. That’s the problem. That’s the main problem. The only problem…
Am I stupid, or what? You don’t want to be with me. You said so. You wanted me to be your friend. If I couldn’t, you would deal with it. I wanted us to be together very badly. I didn’t want us stop being friends. But I couldn’t be your friend. I freaked out. And you have too many responsibilities. I was immature. I was romantic and a foul. And you so extremely busy.
Is this the reason why you don’t answer my e-mails? I fear it’s not, but I hope so.
You said we would be friends for as long as I want. You lied to me. Or are you loosing your mind with all the work you need do, just as I am for not hearing from you? I know you are busy. I was told. I try not to ask for you. I’m afraid someone will tell you ‘do you know who asked for you?’ I’m afraid you would get even angrier. Are you angry?
This is far most the worse thing to bear. Do you know how this girl’s mind works? When it doesn’t know the answer, it makes conjectures, finds suitable answers, reasonable possibilities. Truthful or not, who knows?
But can you possibly be so busy that you can’t even spare two seconds to write: ‘I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me the f*** alone.’ At least I would know. At least my mind would have different stupid questions for a change to be occupied with. You are just too polite to say something like that, I think. Reading to this, you would immediately ask me stop saying the f word. My friends say you have said it already by not answering back, by your silence. Sorry, I did to hear it to be sure. I’m an old-fashion girl. I would wait for the sea to bring back my lover, I would trust the sea to take good care of you and bring you safe back to me. Yes, I need to hear it.
Can you be so busy as you said you would be? I’m selfish, please forgive me. What I was told is that you are working like crazy, not doing anything else. And that it is going on for months. I wouldn’t need anyone to tell me this. And you know I would try not to let you work so hard. No, not not to let you work so hard, simply make you spare time to relax.
How can I expect you to have two minutes to spare me, when you go into the shower and forget to wash?
Do you know?
I would take you to the shower and bathe you.
I would lay you down in bed and massage every single part of your body.
Cook you breakfast, lunch and diner every day.
Pour you fresh coffee.
Come to your office and take you out of there for half an hour just to switch your brain off for a bit.
Do your laundry, dishes and cleaning.
Do all these things I could do so you can focus on work only. And this would make you have spare time to relax.
I would remind you things, because you always forget.
I would hold you in my arms, kiss you and make you feel the most beautiful woman in the world. Because, to me, you are.
And I would leave you alone whenever you were too pissed up with everything, but hide you a sweet and a note saying how much I love you. And you would smile finding it.
Do you know how much do I still love you even when I mean nothing to you?
How blind can my love be?
How can I take my life back into track if I stubbornly keep trying the closed road leading to you?
Where can I find the strength to face another day, when you are gone the moment I open my eyes?
Oh God, please give a sign saying I will see her again, saying she will be in my arms again. Even if only once more.
Would once more make any difference?
Would once more be enough to make you understand that my love is true and can’t be drawn by the ocean between us?
Would once more be enough to calm my heart?
Would once more be enough for us to grow strong together?
It would be enough to make me the happiest person on earth. And you, I hope. For how long? For us to decide.
Why do I keep on denying the facts?
Why do I keep on believing all things are possible?
Because they are.
Because I can’t live feeling differently.
Looking out the window I see the moon, dancing gorgeous in the sky, with all the stars dancing around, trying to get closer. There is only one star near her. Well, it’s actually a planet.
Sign or no sign, the moon is smiling at me.
Can you see her?
Through the moon, I’m sending you a smile, a kiss and a hug.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Live and Let Die
... or the possible ending.
Live and let die.
No.
Die, and let live.
This blog makes no longer sense.
It is to be finished.
Today.
Here.
And.
Now.
This is the happiest day of my life.
Or so I hope.
Is this a dream?
Please, don’t let me wake up.
Kiss me.
Just kiss me.
Again.
And again.
Always.
Forever.
Only then will I be sure not to be dreaming.
Or perhaps not.
Let’s keep on dreaming this dream.
Let’s dream it together.
I’m dreaming.
I’m awake.
I’m alive.
I’m in love.
And you are finally with me!
You.
My love.
Kiss me.
Just kiss me.
Again.
And again.
Always.
Forever.
Live and let die.
No.
Die, and let live.
This blog makes no longer sense.
It is to be finished.
Today.
Here.
And.
Now.
This is the happiest day of my life.
Or so I hope.
Is this a dream?
Please, don’t let me wake up.
Kiss me.
Just kiss me.
Again.
And again.
Always.
Forever.
Only then will I be sure not to be dreaming.
Or perhaps not.
Let’s keep on dreaming this dream.
Let’s dream it together.
I’m dreaming.
I’m awake.
I’m alive.
I’m in love.
And you are finally with me!
You.
My love.
Kiss me.
Just kiss me.
Again.
And again.
Always.
Forever.
Letter to Santa
6 Labrys Road,
My Moon WH173 574R,
The Universe
Santa Claus,
Santa Claus’ office,
Department of Christmas,
9 Reindeer Avenue,
Santa’s Secret Village, H34 V3N,
The Northpole
Dear Santa,
My name is Alixx. You may call me the owl, or simply, owl. It does not matter why, maybe I will explain in a future, near or far. I am a girl. In love. Heartbroken. Or so, this is how it is written.
I am writing today my Christmas letter. I have decided to do it this year in May. And this is the first letter I ever wrote to you, and I can write since I am 6. What I am now does not matter, but I may assure you I can write for many many years. So, you see, I am late rather than in advance.
If you do get this letter, please do not be crossed. I know it is months to Christmas, and I know you are packing for your summer holidays. I know you are not to be bothered before November, and I do apologise. Harrods starts on selling Christmas staff in August, and maybe that is okay, so you can start spending all your money as soon as you get back from holidays. But it is not even August, yet. I have run out of excuses, I am afraid.
I know you would not mind start receiving letters as soon as you are back, you just do not like receive them before you go. But my wish is not to upset you or to have you bothered with my problems and wishes before time.
That is the reason why I am writing two letters. This one to ask you ‘please do not open the letter accompanying this one before the time when you will start dealing whit this year’s Christmas’ wishes’. The second one is the one I just refer to (just to make sure you have it right).
The second one is the one that really matters. Do not let anyone know, but I am writing a blog to the girl I love. We are not together. I miss her, I miss being with her, and I wish for us to be together. One day, ayway… (No, it is not for you to get her in my bed by Christmas morning I want. Although, it is really sweet of you to ask, and I will not of course refuse it…) And I am not even writing to ask you to bring us together. I know you are only Santa… and I am aware of your limits.
What I want to ask is for you to make true the ending I wrote and wish for this story I am writing in my blog. You see, it is not quite the same, although it may seem. One thing is to make an almost impossible dream to come true, another completely different thing is to make come true a possible ending for a story that is being written. Stories must end. Every story has an ending. We may choose how to finish a story. As for life, it is completely different. And this story is my life, or at least about it. I am not asking for an ending to the story of my life, I am just asking for an ending to this particular story inside the story of my life. See? It is completely different. Much more simple. Am I not a sweet girl, making such a simple request?
Ups, I think I may have said a bit too much. Hope you not curious, are you? If we all have to wait until Christmas to open our presents, I think it is fair that you will have to wait until after your holidays to open my second letter…
Yours sincerely,
Alixx
ps. My love used to call me a cheeky monkey sometimes. I never understood why.
My Moon WH173 574R,
The Universe
Santa Claus,
Santa Claus’ office,
Department of Christmas,
9 Reindeer Avenue,
Santa’s Secret Village, H34 V3N,
The Northpole
Dear Santa,
My name is Alixx. You may call me the owl, or simply, owl. It does not matter why, maybe I will explain in a future, near or far. I am a girl. In love. Heartbroken. Or so, this is how it is written.
I am writing today my Christmas letter. I have decided to do it this year in May. And this is the first letter I ever wrote to you, and I can write since I am 6. What I am now does not matter, but I may assure you I can write for many many years. So, you see, I am late rather than in advance.
If you do get this letter, please do not be crossed. I know it is months to Christmas, and I know you are packing for your summer holidays. I know you are not to be bothered before November, and I do apologise. Harrods starts on selling Christmas staff in August, and maybe that is okay, so you can start spending all your money as soon as you get back from holidays. But it is not even August, yet. I have run out of excuses, I am afraid.
I know you would not mind start receiving letters as soon as you are back, you just do not like receive them before you go. But my wish is not to upset you or to have you bothered with my problems and wishes before time.
That is the reason why I am writing two letters. This one to ask you ‘please do not open the letter accompanying this one before the time when you will start dealing whit this year’s Christmas’ wishes’. The second one is the one I just refer to (just to make sure you have it right).
The second one is the one that really matters. Do not let anyone know, but I am writing a blog to the girl I love. We are not together. I miss her, I miss being with her, and I wish for us to be together. One day, ayway… (No, it is not for you to get her in my bed by Christmas morning I want. Although, it is really sweet of you to ask, and I will not of course refuse it…) And I am not even writing to ask you to bring us together. I know you are only Santa… and I am aware of your limits.
What I want to ask is for you to make true the ending I wrote and wish for this story I am writing in my blog. You see, it is not quite the same, although it may seem. One thing is to make an almost impossible dream to come true, another completely different thing is to make come true a possible ending for a story that is being written. Stories must end. Every story has an ending. We may choose how to finish a story. As for life, it is completely different. And this story is my life, or at least about it. I am not asking for an ending to the story of my life, I am just asking for an ending to this particular story inside the story of my life. See? It is completely different. Much more simple. Am I not a sweet girl, making such a simple request?
Ups, I think I may have said a bit too much. Hope you not curious, are you? If we all have to wait until Christmas to open our presents, I think it is fair that you will have to wait until after your holidays to open my second letter…
Yours sincerely,
Alixx
ps. My love used to call me a cheeky monkey sometimes. I never understood why.
Can I ask you a question?
Is it possible to write the end in the middle of the story?
Is it wise?
Is it wise to let you know how I wish this story would end?
Of course I know you know how I wish this story to be ended...
But is it wise to tell our wishes?
Can they still happen once said?
Well, I'm not saying, just writing!
And who is here to listen?
God?
God listens even when I don't speak or write. God can listen to my thoughts, no need for these lines.
Who else, then?
No one.
Exactly my point.
So maybe I can (say) write it, if there’s no one to listen.
I might as well write it in a letter to Santa.
Is it not Christmas yet?
How soon to Christmas?
Better, how long???
I won't last until...
Is it wise?
Is it wise to let you know how I wish this story would end?
Of course I know you know how I wish this story to be ended...
But is it wise to tell our wishes?
Can they still happen once said?
Well, I'm not saying, just writing!
And who is here to listen?
God?
God listens even when I don't speak or write. God can listen to my thoughts, no need for these lines.
Who else, then?
No one.
Exactly my point.
So maybe I can (say) write it, if there’s no one to listen.
I might as well write it in a letter to Santa.
Is it not Christmas yet?
How soon to Christmas?
Better, how long???
I won't last until...
Keeping Labrys to date...
I always (if not always, almost always!!!) write in paper. Old-fashion girl, call me whatever. When the words come to me I have the time to grab a pen and open and open my notebook, but to wait the endless minute the computer takes to get on going. And, what can I say, I like to handwrite. I like to scratch, I like to see the shape of my hand-writing change together with my emotions. I can’t even say how my handwriting looks like. Depends on the day, I suppose. Depends on the mood, to be more accurate.
So, I said to myself, ok I will write as much as I need in one day, but I won’t post more than one a day. And suddenly, I began loosing the will to post. What I have written had lost it’s meaning, it time has pasted. But what is past, anyway?
I want to post today what I wrote today. Sometimes I post what I have written in the present day, and let what I have written before to be posted in another. If I was concerned that my words were loosing it’s meaning when not published when written, what sense will they have posted in a different order than that of writing. Yes, my thoughts travel in time, and words don’t come to me in order. But I think I can at least make an effort and post them as they come along.
And so I have now to post, I think, thrice, before publishing today’s thoughts. (it's four, actually)
Off we go, then! Off we go!
So, I said to myself, ok I will write as much as I need in one day, but I won’t post more than one a day. And suddenly, I began loosing the will to post. What I have written had lost it’s meaning, it time has pasted. But what is past, anyway?
I want to post today what I wrote today. Sometimes I post what I have written in the present day, and let what I have written before to be posted in another. If I was concerned that my words were loosing it’s meaning when not published when written, what sense will they have posted in a different order than that of writing. Yes, my thoughts travel in time, and words don’t come to me in order. But I think I can at least make an effort and post them as they come along.
And so I have now to post, I think, thrice, before publishing today’s thoughts. (it's four, actually)
Off we go, then! Off we go!
Friday, June 01, 2007
Becoming an addicted
Just met Lizzy the Lezzy and found it fantastic. Apparently it has been on for decades, already with all this stuff to buy and everything.
Lizzy the Lezzy
Add to My Profile | More Videos
Lizzy the Lezzy 2
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There are many more.
Enjoy.
Lizzy the Lezzy
Add to My Profile | More Videos
Lizzy the Lezzy 2
Add to My Profile | More Videos
There are many more.
Enjoy.
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