“I wasn’t born next to the sea but I love it. I hate cold. I strongly hate it. It depresses me, it hurts me. Living next to the sea it’s what makes me happy. The sea is in the air, you don’t need to feel it under your feet. You don’t need to see it everyday. It’s just there. Vast and blue and green and mesmerizing.
I could’ve lived in Greece, the sea there is amazing. I definitely could’ve lived there. But it’s too quiet for me. I need that busy city background sound. I need its restlessness. I need to be in the middle of the rush.”
“Probably that’s why you’re scared. That I’m too friendly, too warm, that I am outgoing and alive. I am not who you want me to be, I will not stay home, you think, you can’t tame me, you can’t control me. That’s the fear. Without you knowing how much I need to be at home, how much I crave watching a movie on the sofa, in your arms and then kissing your lips good night.
I don’t need you to build me a prison that I will never stay in, I will build my own and it’s high security. I am not even trying to escape. There is nothing outside that can make me curious. Freedom, that kind of freedom, is not what I crave anymore.
People believe so strongly that they need to dominate each other instead of simply living together. Compromise, yes, compromise. I will never stop somebody I love from doing what they love. It’s not fair. I don’t want to change them. I want them as they are, with their rawness, with their wars, with their baggage. Who doesn’t have it? But they need to give me the same in return. Because once you give somebody their freedom you enslave them forever. Because there’s nothing better than being yourself next to the person you love. You will never run away.
But I can’t be myself anymore. I’m overthinking, I’m afraid. I’m thinking about how my words sound… more than ever. I’m thinking about what you want in a person and I feel it’s not somebody like me. I feel that everything I do is wrong and silly. I feel that I will never be enough.
And I wonder how. Everybody likes me exactly for who I am, only you want me to be someone else. Without thinking that maybe you are the one who needs to look at his own flaws, at his own twisted self.
You should feed on my energy and my strength instead of suppress it because I can lift you to unknown levels. I can empower and better you until you forget every single bad moment in your existence. This is what I do. I lift people up.
You won’t ever let me though. Even though you care. You won’t ever let me though. I have no other purpose than to give happiness. There is nothing that somebody owns that I want for myself. You can’t give me anything because I wish for nothing. If that was the case I would be somewhere else in life.
I want you for who you are.
I’m like the summer maybe. People enjoy it but at some point they find it too hot, they seek the shade. But winter only makes you remember summer, and wish it was back”
She said all this looking at her in the mirror, imagining him in front of her. He will never listen to this, she knows. Because he refuses conversations. Maybe he’s not even worthy of hearing this. Oh he is of course he is, but he’ll not know how to fully understand it and appreciate it. He’ll twist it, he’ll make it sound ordinary without understanding the place it comes from.
The few moments they actually talked were battles of wits. Who can dominate more. Even though she listened. She listened carefully. She heard him. And she stopped talking.
These monologues occasionally occur in her mind and as much as she will like to let them out she knows they’ll hit a wall. That’s the worst part of everything. No gate, no window not a single crack to reach behind that wall…
And it’s so surprising. He seems so flexible, so down to earth and easy going. So living in this century type of guy, only to discover that he is a fossil, a relic, God knows how it got lost here. And he learned how to dust himself off to look like a precious stone. Not all that glitters is gold though, to put it this way.
Anyway, the conversation is over. Her mind brought this out. That she will hit such a thick wall if she’ll ever try to voice these thoughts. This is the moment when she’ll give up. She hates it and regrets it but for now that’s what it is.
It’s all love and late night writing shenanigans. Peace!