Speechless and overwhelmed

The closest thing to living twice is knowing that your death and your happiness is also another person’s.

Of all the foreign new feelings, it is taking me the longest to adjust to feeling loved. To be pulled to stay another 30 minutes, to hug and kiss one more time, I don’t think words provide a better expression of love. I remembered a picture that I saw in a video game a few years ago. It showed a guy being pulled by a girl, as he tried to put down his glass of wine. I remembered feeling bitter sadness. What I mean is sadness that is caused not only by deprivation but by jealousy as well.

It feels as if I passed a long test of patience, and I was finally rewarded. Not just since being a teenager, but since being a kid when my parents felt as adversaries most of the time. As if all the cheesy repetitive words of encouragement became true all at once. The same words of encouragement that I criticized in-depth and rejected for being generic, inaccurate, and insincere.

I overthink every date: what to say, and more importantly, what to wait much much later before saying. Yet, every time it seems to go in the best direction regardless of my plans. I am not often speechless. But I write today for the same reasons that I started the blog: having too many thoughts and feelings. Maybe the only reason my writing improved over the years is that I understood what I felt as time went by.

These days, my feelings are new and foreign. I struggle, as I did a few years ago, to express them. I feel numb for a few days after we meet. I remember and I feel, but I struggle to conjure up more than the generic “I love her”. It is overwhelming, and I grieve for the day it stops being so.

Painting-World-2
Image source: Braid (a video game)
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In an airplane, again

For the first time in as long as I remember, I boarded the plane with something to lose. This time, my fear of planes was magnified by real consequences. This time, I wasn’t undecided about whether it would be bad if my fear came true.

I did have something to lose. It was that someone would cry if I died, not because death is sad but because they would miss me. She would miss what I used to say and what I used to do. That was the treasure that I didn’t want to lose.

I looked at children and the elderly, and I felt relieved. I don’t know why it’s always easier for me to expect God’s mercy on others, but not on myself. Ascending to the plane alone would be like descending into a tomb. And I feel safer if the plane is full with more reasons for God to guard the plane.

My growth is always more noticeable when I fly. Every time I rise above the clouds I see my life as a distant neutral observer who’s aggregating evaluations of my life. I feel empty, and sad just by noticing the empty feeling.

I am fully convinced that traveling the world is not one of my goals in life. I want my life to be one, not the aggregation of many smaller lives. I want to stay home, especially now that home is pleasant.
I have something to lose, and it’s my life at home.

To you, my treasure.
To you, although you don’t read this: I love you.

A long short story

How can I justify a greed for the unknown?
Well, it combines two misfortunes: ignorance and deprivation.

I want to be close enough to know what exists, but far enough to suffer alone without humiliation.
August 2014. “Is there anything out there that I cannot enjoy?”

The details of your beauty are too rich to be memorized at all times. I recall them a second, and forget them the next. Then comes the reconstruction.

Every time I see you, I get to be amazed by your beauty as if I have never seen you before. And every time, my heart beat accelerates trying to carry me next to you.
September 2014. “Unsent messages of a troubled lover (1)”

My pain, my pleasure. My share of heaven, and my due of hell. You have given me the highest amount of hope and fear.
September 2014. “Unsent messages of a troubled lover (2)”

See, the problem is, moths do not understand that they cannot acquire the light, and they keep crashing into it over and over and over. You might say I just need to “unlove” you, and to move on. But, see, the problem is, even if you were the most narcissistic woman, you will never have the slightest idea of the effect you have on me, and on every other moth
September 2014. “Unsent Messages of a troubled lover (3)”

I am aware of how my deceptive mind will tell me I will find someone like you, even though you are one-in-a-universe, one-in-an-eternity, One and only, unmatched and incomparable.
September 2014. “Unsent messages of a troubled lover (4)”

I will try to not talk about you, although I see you in the sun and the moon, in other women as the ideal they are trying to achieve (and are falling short of), and in other men as either their most valuable victory, their most humiliating defeat, or, for the unlucky ones, their most depriving ignorance.
October 2014. “An attempted closure”

I looked at you, but you only saw me. The way a falling leaf is seen this time of the year.

You were there, prettier and further from reach than ever. I was there falling all over again, as if I were seeing you for the first time.
October 2014. “The laws of probability”

My loneliness made me feel the length of nights,
and my conscience made me notice their gloominess,
and in a night as long and gloomy as tonight, I find myself surrounded by the most hideous of memories.
March 2015. “Nights like this”

Sleep does not tempt a heart whose ailment was longing.
The night is long, and I can think of you for eternity.
And if I silence my thoughts, I would still hear my heart knocking rapidly on a door that will never open.

Oh heart: die or beat slower. Let us rest either forever, or for tonight.
June 2015. “The memory of you, and a long night”

Oh, how far do you seem to me now.
Were you only in my imagination?
We will never meet, but have we ever met?
Have we ever met, my love? Have we ever met?
September 2015. “Memory or imagination?”

There is always an end, and it will only be when I can’t see those stars anymore.
Not like an unwatered plant that died of thirst. But like perfume that has completely spread into the air, becoming an infinitesimal part of it, but a part nonetheless.
February 2016. “The stars that rose above us both”

[The easiest part] is seeing you genuinely happy.
Why should it bother me?
Maybe it is something close to the definition of jealousy.

“Such is love; the easiest part of it is most difficult.”
June 2016. “The easiest part”

I look at you, and I avert my eyes.
I look at the sky, pretty beyond description and far beyond reach.
August 2016. “An unfortunate night”

It’s been two years, and I still remember the late days of August and the early days of September.
It’s wrong to remember after this much time, I admit.
That is why I fear time; not because it will make me forget you, but because it makes it more wrong to remember you.
But I ask of you: Do you remember when I said that the moon reminds me of you?
Time will pass, and I will be defeated.
I’ll see nothing in the moon except an ordinary planet, nothing in this Tuesday except a random Tuesday, and nothing in you except memories of feelings.
August 2016. “A random Tuesday”

Nothing remains but memories of feelings.

It must be part of the classic procedure. If the apology is pure, after it comes nothing.
September 2016. “A pure apology”