literature

friday morning musings in a blue cubicle

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Published: Jul 25, 2014

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Literature Text

i am six and i like a boy named Cameron. he likes nature and wildlife and is going to be a zookeeper, so i will be a zookeeper too. *** i am eight and i like a boy named Henry. he plays soccer and hockey and brings in his trophies for show & tell. he has dark eyes and brown-silvery hair, and at the end of third grade, he moves away to New York. *** i am ten and i like the boy named Cameron again. he still likes nature and wildlife, but now he’s going to be a conservationist. i want to be an Olympic figure skater. i don't think we are meant to be. *** i am twelve and i like a boy named Andrew. he’s older and smarter and cuter than all the other boys and crueler. *** i am fourteen, and i like no one, least of all myself. *** i am sixteen, and i tell myself that i like the self-imposed restrictions, the comforting, predictable routine of eating and purging. it’s okay. everything will be okay. (no, it won’t) *** i am eighteen. i am free. i will learn to love myself again. *** i am twenty and i like a girl who smells of shampoo and leather. she likes cats and trains and grapefruit - and me (?!) my heart should feel like champagne - but it doesn’t, because judgment, like molten gold, drips from my mind, heavy and resolute. i can’t. i can’t. i can’t. i don’t. *** i am twenty and foolish twenty and still young only twenty but my heart thrums with an all-too-familiar ache an ache for which, once again, i wish a swift passing and hope will never return.

_{confessions of an admitted drama queen}

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Rallya

Jul 25, 2014

I read this and I thought of all the things I could say that might give a small measure of comfort or acceptance or understanding, but the truth is there's nothing anyone can say that will make this better because it's not really up to anyone else. Comfort, acceptance and understanding are all things that come from within, really, from the knowledge that denying oneself in such a fundamental way can only lead to sadness and the belief that there isn't always a right answer. What makes you happy? What matters most? What can you live with? Can you live without it? The questions are your own, the answers are your own and the world be damned.

On that note, here are two nice and seemingly relevant quotes:

"So yes. It had flaws, but what does that matter when it comes to matters of the heart? We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That's as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect."

"I think it's a cruel world. I think it's hard to find love. I think we should all be happy when someone manages to do it."

I don't know if this helps in any way (and maybe I'm completely beside the point), but I figured I'd trade a heartfelt comment for a beautiful poem.

friday morning musings in a blue cubicle

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Literature Text

on an afternoon walk

find your way back

Do you feel the same?

Morning