I Am Alone But Adored

I was the first to have spoken
And I said just about
All of the things you shouldn’t say
So maybe you’ll call me, maybe you won’t

It has been just less than one month since my last post, and I have lots of thoughts and ramblings saved up for you this time. I excuse in advance if this will all seem very randomly thrown together, but I hope you will appreciate the fact that there is a new post more than what that post actually contains. Yes.

As those of you who have read SisMid for a while knows, I am a fan of (at times really terrible) metaphors. Because I am such a fan of metaphors, I have found a fitting (at least that is what I’ve been thinking in my head) metaphor that will hopefully describe how my life has been and how it has changed during the past month(s).

Quite a while ago, I stood before a great stream, or maybe even a river, trying to see beyond to the other side of it, but not sure if I dared to cross the river to get there. I took a few hesitating steps into it, but it was cold, and the currents were quite strong. However, I became more and more determined to cross the river, thinking that the grass might be greener on the other side – but still not daring. Suddenly I was pushed all the way into it, and it was deeper than I had thought, far deeper than I had ever imagined, and the currents were threatening to pull me along with them, to drown me. For a long time I struggled towards the banks but I seemed unable to reach the shore no matter how much I struggled, how much I trodded the water, hoping to reach land.

But then, suddenly, I did. I made it across the river, and I pulled myself up, with far less effort than I had imagined. My clothes dried and I rested well and suddenly I looked around me and realised that not only was the grass greener here, it was sunny, the birds were singing, and a warm feeling spread around my body. I turned and looked at the river, and at the shore on the other side of it, seeing that it was gray, dull, and I could not believe that I had spent so much time debating whether or not to cross the river, honestly.

I have now been on the other side for quite a while, and I swear on my rabbit’s life that I haven’t been this happy in… Ages. I can only say that I have never been more happy to have crossed a river, ever. So, all of you who knows a tiny bit of what might be going on in my life can most probably imagine what I’m referring to with that metaphor – all you others can just picture me standing on the other side of the river, victorious and triumphant, hands raised in the air and with a big smile. Probably covered in mud if that suits your imagination.

Now, as to my previous post referring to all this doubt I was having: I have not solved anything, in fact I’ve only grown more confused and more doubtful. Well, this is not quite true – the questions I was looking to answer back then has been answered, sort of, but they’ve only made way for thrice as many even more complicated, confusing and doubt-inducing questions. In conclusion: I am completely at a loss in many ways, but while I fuss over small details hoping it will make a difference I suppose I know the big picture, and the big picture is quite easily seen, and it lets me know that I most definitely shouldn’t fuss over the small details, that I should not fuss over anything relating to that topic at all in fact because the topic is not actually a topic.

Booyah, sphinx-mode for y’all again, I’m sure you’re happy about that!

No, but seriously, don’t worry about this being a problem for me or anything – it might have sounded slightly depressive the way I wrote it now, but to drop the case is no difficult deal, perhaps only slightly regretful. I can only quote The Thrills and say “regrets, regrets, regrets”. Basically. But then all clubs are included in one big mix when you think that it would probably not have made a difference anyway, and that even though things could have had a different outcome it’s not something to worry oneself too much about because what is meant to happen, happens. Right? I think I’m confusing even myself now, I’m sorry. I’ll move on.

The final topic I want to write about is the fact that time fucking flies. I mean, it’s December already, and not only is it December, but it’s December 18. This means that I can count the days until Christmas eve on one hand, which would, a couple of years ago, have reduced me to a squealing ball of excitement, but which is now only enough to make me raise my eyebrows in bafflement and think ‘well, fuck.’ I don’t know what happened to the excitement, and I’m genuinely sad it’s gone, but at the same time – how the fuck am I supposed to get excited for Christmas when I work so goddamn much and generally don’t have time to do anything else?

But, you know, I guess that a part of growing up. And it’s not that I’m not excited about Christmas, because of course I’m looking forward to stuffing myself with lots of food and seeing my family and ohmygodpresentsyayyy but I’m more nonchalant to it, I guess. This is sounding overly pretentious, and I’m sorry about that because that’s not my intention at all, but yes. I don’t know.

BUT! (There are too many but’s in this post. But.) No matter how nonchalant I am about Christmas, I still wish every single one of you a wonderful Christmas, and in the event that I am unable (or too lazy) to write a new post before that time I will wish it to you now and hope that you have a wonderful time. I will write before New Year’s, though. Seriously. Or, if I don’t write before New Year’s Eve then I promise I’ll write on Janurary 1, no matter how hungover and gross I feel. I need to start off the year in a good fashion, right?

Now I’m almost getting sentimental. Okay, I’m saving the sentimental stuff for a pre-2012 post, which should be enough to guilt-trip me into writing one. Failproof plan!

[Song: The Last High | Artist: The Dandy Warhols]

Is This The Blues I’m Singing

If I said I’d lost my way
Would you sympathise
Could you sympathise?
I’m jumbled up

First point: even after nearly three years of blogging on SisMid I still haven’t decided whether to use question marks in the title or not. First I decided not to use it, but then I questioned my decision, tagged it on, but questioned that decision as well. As you can see, my final decision was to drop the goddamn question mark and from now on decide to never use question marks in my title. (I should note this somewhere for future reference, since I am very likely to question myself again later some time. Oh well.) Moving on.

It seems I’m questioning myself a lot lately. This is going to sound really silly, but I usually don’t do this. For better or for worse, I usually just run with whatever I’m doing, and regret isn’t usually a part of my daily routine. If there is something I hate, it is regret. Of course, just because I try to eliminate that feeling from my life, it pops up from time to time, seeing as you’d be pretty hardcore never to regret anything. Or very pleased with yourself. Or both. Or you do absolutely nothing in your life that’s possible to regret, but that’s a decision in itself that is very regrettable.

Damn, what’s up with the cryptical talking. I’ll try and get out of sphinx mode.

So, regrets. To put it simply: I have some huge regrets in my life, most of them concerning pretty life-changing situations. But, in hindsight, I actually truly believe that I wouldn’t go back in time to change them, if I had the chance. All of those situtations have given me some incredibly valuable life lessons that I would probably have had to learn sooner or later, and I guess sooner is better than later. But the weird fact in all this is that it’s the smaller regrets I’d rather change. The regrets that, if changed, might not have made any difference at all. But I am a notorious member of the ‘what-if’-club. And to be frank, I quite dislike that club. It makes me question all my decisions, and it seems to constantly come up with tiny things – choice of words, beer to drink, dress to wear – that could have, according to this silly club, have changed the outcome of any given situation.

I constantly have to convince myself (failingly) that it wouldn’t have made a difference. Paradoxically, I’m also a member of the ‘everything-happens-for-a-reason’-club, which is really a silly club as well, but I don’t think it’s very uncommon for members of the ‘what-if’-club to join this one as well – it’s quite common, really. It’s quite logical: you question yourself half to death until you go mad with all the ‘what-if’s, but relief has to come in some form, or else we’d all be mad, right? So you skip out of ‘what-if’ and peek inside ‘everything-happens-for-a-reason’. And you can feel the relief flow over you. Doesn’t that one sentence solve everything? If everything happens for a reason, then you did exactly what you were supposed to do. That’s fairly calming, right?

But in the end, both clubs bloody suck, end of story. You drive yourself mad with all the ‘what-if’s that you can’t fucking do anything about, and you get lulled into a silly belief of ‘everything-happens-for-a-reason’, which is so completely at odds with the ‘what-if’s, and, well, my conclusion is that a person could go mad from less. And this all leads me back to my initial point, which is that I don’t like regretting all over the place, simply because I can’t get out of that stupid, evil circle once I get in it.

I am currently trying to end my membership in both clubs, but it’s proving to be very diffucult indeed. Because closely knit with the regret is the uncertainty, and uncertainty, my friends, is my best worst friend. Honestly. I don’t usually think too much about things that won’t solve themselves no matter how much I think about them, but alas, I do. And right now I seem to be in the middle of a tidalwave consisting of pure, stupefying uncertainty. However, closely knit with the uncertainty is, just as paradoxically as my two previous examples, the infallible theory that everything works out in the end. I think I spend too much time thinking, analyzing and worrying over the same matters, but the minute I manage to get my mind off it, it magically solves itself. More or less.

Seriously. As I’m writing this, I realise how true it is. It’s just that… I really want this to solve itself, or to put it another way, I want my uncertainty to go away right now, to reveal that my hopes are coming true. Or something. I have been so completely roller-coaster euphoric/shit-scared lately, the feeling that happiness if so close, but yet so fragile, thus making me doubt and regret and worry and freak out way more than can possibly be healthy. And this is both exciting and destrucitve, in a way, and I just… Regret, hope, doubt, smile and cr- well, no, I haven’t cried, but I have angsted, if I might take the liberty of making up that word.

And now I’m getting slightly into sphinx mode again, and because explaining all this sphinxing (oh look new word again) is completely out of the question, I believe it’s time for me to call this the end, and wrap it up with a hope that the next time I post here (which will not be long until, I promise), my uncertainty has disappeared. Right. Good.

(Also, capital letters on all the words in songs and artist names or not? Oh goddamnit)

[Song: Rescue | Artist: Echo And The Bunnymen]

If You’re Gonna Go, Go Now

In you go
Into some crowded room
Animals climb
And I’m climbin’ over you

Shoot, I almost forgot my 1-post-a-day promise. Well, since it seems that it’s quantity over quality that’s the deal this month I have no choice, I guess. I will only very humbly plead for you not to take any of these posts too seriously as they are quite rushed posts where I basically just spew out lots of thoughts and then I go to bed, basically.

I just reached 18,000 words on my novel, and at first that made me really happy, until I realised that today is the halfway-mark of November. Which means I should have been at 25,000 words. And I instantly start bringing myself down, wondering why I even bother when there are so many out there who are so far beyond me. But then I remember that many people are still behind me, and at the same place as me, and that 18k is not at all bad. Dear readers, I had not planned anything for this book at all before I opened a document on November 1st and called it ‘NaNoWriMo’. Sure, I had an outline for a plot, but the only thing that survived was the hair colour of the main character. Not even the gender. My point is, since I’m trying to build myself up here, that I’m not doing so bad when I compare how little planning I’ve done. I’m basically just writing as I go along, and that has brought me to 18,000 words – which is quite a lot, if I may say so. And I have so much more to write, so I definitely don’t have writer’s block! But a problem with concentration, or focus, perhaps? Certainly.

I will try not to say this too many times, but the reason I talk so much about this whole novel-deal is because I really want to do it, and the peer pressure from you, all of you, oh Gray Mass of Internet, really puts pressure on me. If that makes you want to unfollow me on twitter (not that I’ve registered anyone doing that so far), then so be it – I have some wonderful muses who (I think) enjoy my rantings. In short: I won’t stop, and I rely a tiny bit on all of you to push me as well. (But talking so much about it makes people want to read it and that is something I seriously cannot take into consideration because then my novel would suddenly have to be censured quite badly, I guess, haha. How extremely intimate isn’t it to let somebody read what you write? My heart gets stuck in my throat just at the thought, goddamn.)

When that is said, I do have a fair share of other thoughts to spew out, but I doubt this is the appropriate place. Let me just say that some things happen to make you really happy, silly happy, really, and then you remember reality and you come back down to earth. But earth is a good place to be, and I plan to have my two feet planted on it from now on.

Oh, and by the way, I had my exam today, which means (unless I fail) that I am now very officially done with high school. Yay!

[Song: Animals | Artist: Coldplay]

One Step Closer And Everything Collapses

Thought I tried to explain
But it doesn’t make a lot of sense if you can’t name names
When I lowered my voice
You were dozing off and drifting further off the coast

The loveliness of writing is often forgotten when one feels forced to write. Perhaps the loveliness of writing is to write when you feel like you have something to write, when something touches a place inside you, overflowing your head with words and images you just have to put on paper, immediately. This is a wonderful experience, and it’s this loveliness of writing that has made me so sure of my plans for the future (which is to study literature and creative writing). But what of it when it feels forced and silly?

My impression is that the more you write, the more you will want to write. I have never before immersed myself in a project as huge as a novel, but now that I’m fairly well into it, I realise it is not so intimidating as I immediately thought. The good thing about NaNoWriMo is, in my eyes, that you put quantity above quality. Your goal is to reach the word count, not to write an amazing masterpiece. And I know that the “novel” I am writing now will be no masterpiece – probably far from it! – but I will be able to see for myself that writing a novel-sized text is possible, and I will have done it, and I will have done it in 30 fucking days. This is all amazing! And, who knows – amongst all the shitty dialogues and over-clichéed scenes there might be a few golden ones that could actually be used for something good later.

Now I know that some of you dear readers might not care a lot about NaNoWriMo, or writing, but as you know, I am quite prone to write about subjects that fascinate and mystify me, and writing is definitely one of these. As I have written about before, the magical thing about writing is to be able to put thoughts and feelings down on paper and, if you manage that task well enough, you can bring other people to that same state of mind. How amazing is that? I am currently reading Jane Eyre (yes, I am lagging behind on the classical books, I know), and in my opinion it is such a wonderful book because there are so many scenes where I can just live myself into them. Charlotte Brontë really manages to give me the feel of the environment Jane is in, and her encounters with other characters is so real to me.

Reading books that are able to make me feel like I do when I read that book makes me want to strive towards being able to write the same. (Was that a horribly difficult sentence? Sorry.) Which is why every piece of writing I do lately is filled to the brim with descriptions of the scenes, and not to mention of the way each word and movement from one character makes the other character feel, and so on. Sometimes I even have to stop myself, because honestly, the reader is (hopefully) not completely stupid, so I should not need to describe every tiny little detail that their imagination can fill in themselves.

But I don’t know, I don’t really dare to go back and read through it, I just write and see what comes out of it. Now is definitely not the time to be critical – now is the time to write whatever the fuck I want. Well, here you go, yet another random blog post. Shall we see if I can manage to write one each day for the rest of November? … I know you’d like that.

[Song: Domino | Artist: Sondre Lerche]

To Purify Our Misfits Ways

Here am I 
Whole at last with a golden view 
Looking for hope 
And I hope it’s you 

So, blogging, regularly – it just won’t happen, ey? Well, nevermind that, I’m bringing you a new post here! Rejoice. Today’s theme is absolutely random, in other words, I have no theme. I flipped through some old posts from a couple of years back and I miss the days where I actually wrote often enough to use this blog as a place to write about my days, and the weekends, and whatever random stuff I was up to. Now it’s more of a once-a-month deal (if that much) where I write some cryptic depressive shit that nobody understands (or wants to understand, even). But honestly, we all love a bit of angst and depression, right?

My life isn’t so depressing nowadays, though, which I guess you’ll be surprised to hear. November has been quite good, what with my birthday (the 3rd), Fleet Foxes (the 6th) and the annual Christmas party (last night). In short, I don’t have many complaints. November is, as you should all know, NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month. Like last year, I’m participating, and like last year, I’m lagging behind like crazy. But at least I’ve beaten the 7000 words from last year. (Doubled it, actually, as we’re speaking.) But no matter how interesting tales of writing and reading are, the good stuff is what’s going on inside. The only problem is that, for you, random gray mass of Internet, that post won’t be addressed. What with you being a random gray mass of people from wherever who could be whoever and all of you can read this… Well, you know, perhaps not such good idea.

But I could tell you that my main character in my book has met somebody who might be giving her some not-quite-innocent butterflies in her stomach, however inappropriate those butterflies might be. Or they have been there a while, possibly as larva, and now they’ve come out of their coccoon. And now I have a horribly disgusting image in my head of my main characters stomach filled with larva. Ew.

Point being: this has been a random post without point, and were it not for the fact that I feel so guilty about not posting anything for so long then I would probably have deleted this and lived another day, but alas. Maybe this can mark a change, though – maybe SisMid will return, stronger than ever? Time will tell. (And time will tell a lot of other things as well. Butterflies, people. Butterflies.)

[Song: Crystal Days | Artist: Echo And The Bunnymen]

Nothing Is Free, Even Words You Can Feel

Now I’m a fool, I feel like the whole world knows and I just can’t escape it
Figured your cool, I was so sweet on you and it seems like you faked it
Seems so cruel, think I could shake you off , yeah I think I’m tough I can take it
I’m tellin’ the truth, you put a good hurt on me

I realize that it has been cruel of me not to update in almost a month. If there are any of you out there that do not know follow me in any other way, you are probably really concerned. (Even though I doubt that any reader of this blog is someone who does not know me.) I can tell you that I am doing better than I was when I wrote my previous post, so you can release the breath that I doubt you have been holding. That being said, I do not know quite how to describe the way I am doing lately. Let me share some other thoughts instead.

I have been thinking a lot about a lot of things lately. Earlier today I wrote in my mini-journal about the power of writing. It is, however painful it might be, possible for me to go back three/four months and read myself back to my state of mind as it was then. It is a powerful thing, writing. That we have the ability to capture a feeling and trap it on a page forever, to go back and live in that moment again. I only wish I had been better at writing more often, particularly in times where I felt good about myself. If I could only go back and read some texts with memories where I actually wrote that I was in a good mood, or that life was actually pretty well. I guess the problem is that for me, writing is a kind of therapy, and I do not really need therapy when I am feeling well.

I believe the only time I have written when I was not troubled is back when I was 14/15. Back then I was much better at writing, even if I only wrote half a page, I still managed to write just about every single day. As of right now I do not even have a proper diary, making writing down my inner thoughts a lot harder than it should be. Of course I can write in one of my other journals (I sure have enough of them), but nothing beats the one diary where I can write everything. Which is why it is so great that I have found the perfect diary online. I just need to, well, buy it. Until then I suppose the mini-journals will have to do, even though they are not used until there is something that absolutely cannot wait to be written.

I have also decided, as of today, that I will join NaNoWriMo this year (again), and this time, I will go through with it. I think I might actually have an idea that could blossom into something. We’ll see. So now I have promised it here, for the whole world to see, so I have some extra pressure to go through with it. Right? Right. Until next time – please do not hold your breaths – take care. Or something.

[Song: Now I'm A Fool | Artist: Eagles Of Death Metal]

Her Soul Won’t Surface

And I thought they could cure his disease
But in all honesty
He didn’t have a hope in hell
Now we’ll never see him move

Finally, after too many months: the truth. The inevitable and terrifying truth. The unexpected truth. The horrible truth. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (at least that is what I hope).

The truth is immersing me in a desperate feeling. No, it is not desperate, it is simply hopeless. It is a situation completely devoid of hope. It is a situation that has finally killed all hope resting in me. And it is a relief, a heartbreaking relief. Because no matter how many nights have been spent crying myself to sleep and how many mornings I’ve woke wanting to stay in bed forever, I have always had this tiny flicker of hope. Fool’s hope, definitely. But hope nonetheless.

And now the hope has been crushed, and it is time to get in touch with the real emotions, and the real pain, because now there is nothing more – the only things left are broken pieces and memories that seem far too golden for them to be realistic. And it hurts, because you feel so lost, and you try to look back, and everything, all of it, appears to be a lie. You feel like you have made a complete fool of yourself, and you wish you could take it back. You wish you could go back in time. And you wish, with all your heart, that the truth you have discovered is not true, but the nausea and the shortness of breath you feel each time you think about it makes you falter and realize that this is the truth. And the truth is unchangeable.

Certain images appear in your head, and you want to push them away so badly, but they won’t disappear. You feel the nausea rising in you, and you feel the tears choking you, and the shock take away your breath, but you cannot do a thing about it, because this is reality, and the bubble you have been living in has just burst, with a violent shock that is still vibrating in your head.

You feel as if you will never be able to take a deep breath ever again, because each time you try, your breathing starts to shake and you gasp for air, hoping it will fill your lungs, but the air refuses to follow your orders and you are left gasping and panting for it and thinking that “this is the moment I die”. But no, it will not be that easy, because the air finds its way to your lungs in the last second, and gives you a few more minutes to live before you try to calm yourself again and the process is repeated.

In this infernal circle of repetitions you find yourself thinking “why me?” and just “why?” and then you are once again reminded that it is because you were no longer good enough, someone else were better, and you were not worth anyone’s tears, and no-one’s tears have been shed. Only yours. And they will continue to shed because they are so accustomed to the freedom of open air, the same air that refuses to let you breathe, and you feel trapped by your own body. Your brain, playing the images before your eyes again and again; your stomach, upsetting you as it threatens to kill you with its cramps; your eyes, never putting the tears to bed; your lungs, never doing their duty in a regular way; and your heart, making you curl up, flinching while gritting your teeth as it pains you with its fierce pain.

You long for it to end, and you know it will – some day. But this is today, and you know that even though surviving this day is a blessing in itself, you are afraid, because you know the feeling will return. The feeling of the truth. The inevitable and terrifying truth. The unexpected truth. The horrible truth. The goddamn truth.

[Song: It Is Not Meant To Be | Artist: Tame Impala]

Nothing’s Gonna Change My World

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe 
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me

I realized it’s cruel to leave you all thinking I’m lying in a hole somewhere dying, so I’m posting to let you know that I’m most certainly not lying in a hole somewhere dying. However, these past weeks have been spent mostly indoors, in my room, in front of the very same screen I’m in front of now. And you know what? I regret nothing.

After 10 amazing and crazy days outside at Roskilde I feel like all the time spent inside is perfectly justified. Now, of course I, like everybody else, gets that tiny pinprick of guilt when I look outside and see the sun and decide to pull the blinds down and go on about my business doing absolutely nothing of importance, but I’d say I have my reasons.

When I look at my post from about the same time last year (more specifically July 31st 2010) I feel a weird pang of emotion. I was going about my business just like I’m doing now; not drinking and partying a lot (I’ve only partied three times since Roskilde), spending most of my time inside, doing nothing. The only difference is that very same reason I’ve been so introverted these past weeks.

And the worst part? I don’t even care.

[Song: Across The Universe | Artist: The Beatles]

Be Cruel To Me ‘Cause I’m A Fool For You

Your love is like a studded leather headlock
Your kiss, it could put creases in the rain
You’re rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock
And those other girls are just postmix lemonade

When it all comes crashing down. It is a very definable moment, when you get that feeling. When everything you’ve built around you just topples and crashes around you – on you – inside you. When what you thought was a fortress was actually a prison, and what you thought was protecting you turned out to be your biggest threat.

The exact moment you feel it all crashing down on you is a moment so powerful, you never forget it. It is the moment your heart bursts and you realize that there is no way back, no way forward either, you are just stuck there right in the middle as the weight of it all comes crashing down on you, burying you. And the worst part? You feel like being buried, too. You never want to get out of your grave, made of broken dreams and worst of all, your broken heart.

If there was an easy way to prevent oneself from these destructive moments, surely we would all protect ourselves, right? But no, not me. I practically begged for it, in fact. I postponed it, thought it wouldn’t happen, while at the same time I knew it was too good to be true that a moment like this wouldn’t come. So I postponed it, and eventually, it came. And with all the extra bricks having been built on top of it all, the weight was even more crushing than I could ever have imagined.

I feel like I am lying here, underneath all the rubble, a fire in the distance, poisoning the already dust-filled air, while I’m trying to breathe, but there are no lungs, no air, and most critical of it all, no heart to pump any oxygen around through my veins. I’m considering trying to remove the bricks, but I know they’re all too heavy, far too heavy, and I can’t make it alone. But the only person who can help me is so far away, too far away, and can’t help. Won’t help.

I don’t know what else to do but to lie here and think about all my regrets, all the dreams shattered, all the possibilities I had, and that I threw away before I knew what they were. And now I regret it. I regret that I realized it all too late. Regret it so much.

I’m stuck underneath the bricks.

[Song: Suck It And See | Artist: Arctic Monkeys]

Fate Up Against Your Will

In starlit nights I saw you
So cruelly you kissed me
Your lips a magic world
Your sky all hung with jewels

I just spent a couple of hours flicking through photo albums and diaries I’ve gathered through the years, and now I’m sitting here with a hollow feeling in my chest. Sometime, way back, I was passionate, crazy, perhaps even silly in my ignorance, and now I can hardly recognize myself.

I believed in love. I had a new crush every other day, and I had some long-time seriously deep crushes that could go over years. I dared to dream, and I wrote it all down. Every single detail, every event, every smile, look, word, sms, and even just the brush of the hand. All these details are thoroughly noted and reported in my diaries, my precious diaries who were always with me and were written in preferably once a day.

I analyzed more, I thought more, I felt more. Is this growing up? Becoming cynical, stone-cold? Indifferent to the details, unaffected by the inevitable ups and downs of life? Because if it is, it makes me sad. It makes me cry for the youth I never knew I had until I lost it. The optimistic and engaged youth, that should be present here and now, already gone down the drain.

I refuse to give up on it. I will dare to dream, to look for love, to write down the details. But will I be able to bring it all back, or will it just be a shadow of what once was? Now that I’m old enough to get what I dreamt of, will it prove to be just a shadow of my what I imagined? Because if that is the disappointment I can await, would I rather go on in my cold – but safe – world? Or would the shadow of those dreams be better than this dreamless state?

I never thought I would post anything as personal as this, but there is a first for everything, I suppose. God only knows how dull life will be the day when there is nothing more to be done for the first time.

[Song: The Killing Moon | Artist: Echo and the Bunnymen]