Thoughts - [II]

Sometimes I wish I never opened the door. I wonder if Alice ever regretted going through the looking glass? I never questioned myself before you, I never questioned my emotions, my capacity to feel, to love. Before I lived with the conviction that everything I said I meant. You questioned every word, every emotion, every bit of feeling I had. Slowly I feel myself lose the grasp as feelings trickle like water being cupped in my hands, holding, painfully hoping it would remain. I buried my flamboyant use of endearments under your sceptical smile. I hid my precious feelings away from your calculating gaze.


Its made me stronger, yes, but at what cost? I feel like an empty shell, only capable of occasional anger, of hatred, of doubt, envy. Before I had not an inkling of doubt that I loved, that I could love, that I do love. Now I question what love is anyway. If I don't love, doesn't that mean that no one else does? If I thought myself that I loved, doesn't that mean that everyone else thought they loved too? How can you be so sure of your love yet question mine? Where can I measure love to calibrate mine against yours? To validate mine. To check if mine is genuine? Better yet, where do I learn to love? Teach me to love, to love with no gain, purely for the sake of loving.

I wonder if you realise its been a year since I told you, "I love you"? I wonder if I ever will. Not because I stopped, no, never because I stopped. But because I'm not sure what love feels like anymore. I thought I loved you. And I think I still do. But you didn't accept my form of love and I refuse to give you a chance to scorn what I thought was love again.

I wonder if I'll ever know what it means to be 'me'. I wonder if I'll ever remember how to go back to being 'me', if indeed I ever was 'me' and who is 'me' now?

***

Has your mind ever picked up a pen and written pages and pages of your words? Beautiful cursive handwriting that flows from the tip of your mind, printing words without a hand to guide them. I often try to commit them to paper, but by then they've gone. The words, so precious in the whispered breath of thoughts that guided them, the words that were led merely by the hand of your thoughts, a handwriting that far exceeds your own.

Sometimes I write words that resonate in tune with my feelings, the sheer joy in matching beautiful words to describe intangible whispered threads of emotions shimmers and catches the rainbow before bursting in sparks that leaves me quite in awe at the power I briefly wielded.

Other times I write tangled webs of words, scorning my ineptitude to convey even a torn shred of what I feel. People are funny beings. They read my blog and gush over how perfect my choice of words were, how I managed to exactly convey a feeling they had, how I managed to resonate a particular vibe of theirs, not realising that I failed to convey what I had wanted to, that my words can not be understood because they were left unspoken.

Either way I shamelessly hope for a comment. While tweets, IMs and emails are all very admirable, I still harbour the secret glow any blogger feels (or are all other bloggers wonderfully self-assured that have no need for them?) when one leaves a comment. A reminder that this blog is worth keeping. Nurturing and coaxing it to grow with its reluctant words.

Don't get me wrong, I love how you pretend to find yourself expressed so eloquently in my words. I love how I find someone else expressing me in their words. But I know that I didn't express you, that you didn't express me. Or maybe we do? Maybe you can't express how my post made you feel because I didn't write the words that I meant to express but what I expressed wordlessly even though I can't see it being expressed is what you understood from the expression and actually expressed what you couldn't yourself even attempt to express unexpressed.

Did any of you understand that? Or at least you thought you understood what I didn't express but meant to express and hence think I expressed it beautifully?

This is my favourite type of philosophy. Sadly seeing as my mum doesn't lend me an ear I seldom get to indulge in it.

I think my point was, without hidden subtleties (or are there any?) do leave a comment. I know I'm awesome but little reminders of that don't go amiss.

***

I try very hard to like everyone. To accept everyone, to not form an idea of them without getting to really know them. But sometimes its just so hard. Being a friend is hard work. I don't want to work so hard for people not my type, people who won't give me back joy when thinking of them, when bumping into them. I adopt a courteous with all style, and sometimes I find it means people you're not drawn to, people that you have no common ground with are drawn to you. Like butterflies dancing around a night light, how can you leave them alone in the darkness? Where do I draw the line between guilt and pleasure? When does friendship become one where you've chosen these friends and how can one gently push away people that depend on them?

But most of all, when will I have all the answers?