Lost connection. Biased. Fake mutual understanding.

Sometimes looking back can be extremely unsettling. You take a peek at yourself, you see through past words, past actions, past reactions. And when your past self disappoints you, when you can say "if I could go back, I'd do things different", then the shock is quite big. Not because you did stupid things, everybody does stupid things. It's because you hurt people you love so freakishly much, you shouted at them, you were short with them, rude with them. And then you get a hole in your heart, and an irresistible urge to try and make things right, apologise, show how sorry you really are. But words won't do the trick, cause you can't phrase them right. And time won't help you, cause after a while there's no point in trying to make things right. Cause things ARE right. Indeed they are. But it's a different kind of right, things are right on a whole other level, and meddling with the past won't do any good to anyone, you know that. And you get angry, and you get sad, and you get confused. Disorientated and wanting to get the heck out of here again. While trying to get those thoughts and those people out of your head. No, words don't do the trick. I couldn't be more sorry. Still not enough. Randomness at it's very best. 

And you're sick of telling yourself to chill and see things clearly, and then you'll calm and see it was not that big a deal after all, overreacting and everything. Sick of telling yourself that you are growing up and can't afford doing stupid things, cause you're almost 24 and you should know better and do, in fact know better. But knowing better makes you very, very sad. Cause it suppresses all the things that make you happy, all your instincts, all your wants. And there's nothing really you could do about it. The barrier is never coming back down again. And you are the one to blame. 

This country makes me very, very sad.

Gosh, my English is so sophisticated.

It's not that I'm not doing fine. I am. I am doing more than fine, to be fair, I'm doing great. It's just that everyone needs a moment to whine about something every now and then. Mostly "then", that's how it goes for me. It almost makes me feel guilty. Got no reasons to complain and all that stuff. I sincerely believe so, hence the guilt. Oh well, what would you know anyway? And that's me rambling.

And it's not like I'm disappointed in love and all that shit. I guess I've just learned to maintain an impressive amount of patience and a realistic attitude when it comes to that matter. I'm waiting, it's bound to happen at some point. As in, for real this time.

Yea, I know, you're waiting for the whining bit. It's not much, really. Just a silly thing. The romantic kind of stuff that I've pushed out of my system and way of life. Don't judge that, you're the one to know better for yourself and I am the one to know for mine. So hush. And that's me rambling again.

So here goes: I want once in my life - doesn't have to be more than once - that a man would dedicate a song of this sort (coming up at the end, geez) to me. As in out in the open, not closeted up on his own crying over me.  Meaning every little bit of it, feeling every word, connecting each lyric to me. I want him to come and say to me "I dedicate this song to you, because you've generated these feelings inside me, because - here comes the L word, Scott Pilgrim fans - I am in lesbians with you ( you snooze, you lose, watch the film).

That's all. Excessively narcissistic and selfish, if you ask my proper self. Plus, ridiculously - to the vomiting point - romantic, cheesy and corny. That is, as I've said, my proper self talking. Really against such things my proper self is, I tell you. But that other bitch keeps nagging from time to time. Quite annoying, that one, I'd say. Then again, what can you do?





Oh, and I know already that this post is exquisitely random and pointless, but then again, when one is doing fine, what sort of posts would you expect?

PS: Snide remarks from people that I know and know me are by no means welcome and will be ignored, most possibly left unanswered and, on the whole, probably deleted. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The rest of you, feel free.

she tries too hard...

...but she sure can sing. 

I'd stop the world and melt with you.

I really think I could. I really think I would. Only, in another life, in another time or maybe in another version of myself altogether.

Past versions made choices in the past. Present versions reminisce the feeling of that past, but know better by now. Cause they are supposed to, that's the whole point of growing up and moving along. Even if that leaves you with a taste which is dry, a feeling which is plain, a scent which is sour-smelling, a determination with which you are not - on the whole - satisfied.

I shall keep the sort of cigarette taken out of the past. The one that bears the right scents, the proper tastes, the long-lost feelings and sentiments. That sort of cigarette I would like to keep. I hope it's for the best. For now I choose and leave behind. My choices are my own. With full consent. With clarity of mind. In full awareness of all parameters.

Who knows? Who can tell?Well, I'd say. Only the one that is yet to be.