myOtaku.com: Maarii

myO Still <3's You

Vitals

Birthday
• 1986-10-08
Gender
• Female
Location
• somewhere you are not
Member Since
• 2003-10-05
Occupation
• a storyteller
Real Name
• Jess - but Maarii to everyone here!

Personal

Achievements
• staying partially sane
Anime Fan Since
• a while
Favorite Anime
• the cute, funny, serious, thought provoking ones
Goals
• to one day save the world and fall in love
Hobbies
• watching people, writing
Talents
• apparently blowing things up with my mind

myOtaku.com: Maarii

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Since no one read it the first time
If there was a space and time equivalent to that of the lonliness that abounds in a world full of lonely people all being lonely together, it would be great. I tell you, because I'm one of them. I'm one more of the pathetic excuses for one who loves her lonliness, because it is her friend. A friend with chains attached, strings attached to her heart/soul/mind/chi/aura and all the other names for the transitive verbs to describe our insanity we call perception of being.

Lonely. Sickeningly easy to love.

And it isn't fucking fair.
Fucking fair it isn't.
I know it isn't only me
I know it is the world.
The whole world and all the people in it, I'm utterly un-unique. I'm completely mundane.
Why doesn't that stop me from feeling it?
Is that supposed to be a fucking comfort?
I'm not alone ... but I still hurt.

Abandonment has always been my greatest fear.
Because I can't find self worth on my own.
Because I've tried so hard, I don't pity myself or others.
I've tried so hard.
And this is my life, I'll deal with it.

But it isn't fair.
Why am I never good enough?
Why am I never smart enough?
Why am I never brave enough?
Why am I never bold enough?
Why am I never pretty enough?
Why am I never interesting enough?
Why am I never good enough?
Why am I never spontaneous enough?
Why am I never kind enough?
Why am I never the right person?
I'm never the right person.
I'm just a shade off of a true blue, aren't I ?
I'm just a shade below lovable.
A shade beneath worth it.
I'm a shade away from normal but beyond help getting to eccentrically captivating.

I don't believe I'm good enough. Do I?
If I beleive it hard enough, will it be true?
Wishes, my pitiful wishes when I'm sitting on the warm grass by a tall tree and I'm crying wishes.
I'm crying, "Come back, please come back. I know what I'll say to you. I can be brave enough to say it. I can be good enough to convince you that my love is worth aknowledging."
Through my tears my words could have been heard by someone, if anyone was around to hear them.
"Please, and I'm sorry. I wanted to say them. I wanted to make you believe me. It isn't my imagination. It isn't my need. I want to ....
I want to love you."
Had anyone been around, maybe words could have spoken louder than actions, and wishes spoken louder than words. Maybe they would have spoken as loud as prayers, or something like them.
Pitiful wishes. And denying regret is no better. Regret. I hate regret. I don't want to hate anything. I don't want to hate loving.
Wishes don't change reality. The reality of the swing, and me on the ground, and the tree next to me where he stood so cool so calm and collected. The road where he drove off into the distance. Is it my fault I don't want to do this anymore? Is it my fault that the only lie I've ever uttered is, "sure I'll keep in touch." The only lie I ever knew I was laying for sure. The only lie I don't know if I can keep.
Wishes don't drive time backwards.
Unicorns don't exist.
Kind of the same thing in my mind.
You can wish, but children wish. And children aren't good enough to love like that. Children are just children.
And I'm still a child.
I still want to be a child.
Because children have hope, and despair is limited to five minute outbursts - banished with a sundae.
Because children have dreams, and nightmares are stories washed away by hugs and kisses.
Because children can create the world, even though the world already exists.. it changes.
Because children feel as much, see as much, love as hard, and hurt worse then any adult I've ever known.
Because I'm a child in my heart.
I'm afraid of growing up and losing all of this.
I'm not sorry I haven't grown up yet.
I'm not sorry I fell in love when I didn't want to, when I couldn't understand it.
I'm not sorry that I'm not good enough.
I'm not sorry that I'm not the right person.
I'm not the right person, if you can't even care.
If you can't see beyond your boundries, tying you up into definitions and memories and keeping you spinning like a top in the bowl of the world.
The whole world spins, why do you have too?

I'm not apologizing for my melodramatics, or my ignorance of convention. I'm not going to pretend that I'm okay, and that I'm not abandoned and that my life will stay the same.
I'm not going to be afraid to love again, like you and your fear of truth.
So afraid to hurt me that you hurt me more than you could possibly imagine.

And I'm not blaming you.
I'm showing you a gray world, shadeless of color, where your boundries and your fears don't apply.
I'm showing you a bigger picture of self.
It's called change.
People can change ifthey want to.
I'm showing you the tree, the swing, the tears from a different perspective.
I'm showing you a heart and a soul and an aura and a mind that you don't deserve to try to understand.
You won't try to understand anymore.
This is the last of it, isn't it?

I bet you think this is all about you? Don't you?
Don't I?

Maybe it's the climax to my mid-life-crisis.
I'll survive somehow.
I always do.

But why can't the surviving start now?
Why doesn't it help to know that most lose and never love at all?
Why can't I fix myself for good?
I'll be happy, I can find it easily enough in a wide field with the sunshine and the wind and the warm grass I've cried into so many times.
I can find it.
Alone.

The space and time equal to lonliness exists in the moment you realize your heart has been broken.
The space and time of lonliness ... when you have to decide to live lonely or not live at all.

space and time

and love and lonely

and heartache and the appreciation thereof

the night
when I think of all this
and I write
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