| (no subject) |
[Dec. 7th, 2004|06:58 pm] |
why must i begin. i hate entrances. i'll never get another chance to make them again. this is for me, no --
why must i begin. i hate entrances. i'll never get another chance to make them. this is for me, not for you. that's what i keep telling myself. but i don't know who this is really for. if i don't know myself, then how can this be for me? hello future self. do you remember your past self? your self that is doing this, that is ruining what your options, yours, the future self. your past self who doesn't understand love or truth or anything in the world that is real or elusive or fucking fake.
your past self who conjures love out of desperation, and desperation is her only currency.
vitrage
\Vit"rage\, n. [F., prop., glazing, glass window.] A curtain of light and translucent material intended to be secured directly to the woodwork of a French casement window or a glazed door.
i want to be a curtain of light. to dissolve completely. to become something saintly and unartificial and sexless. to be beautiful. beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. to be TRUE.
even if i have interpreted the definition incorrectly, it doesn't matter.
i seem so perfectly willing to create my own definition. to feign my own reality. it simply doesn't matter. nothing matters.
but it does. why am i acting as though i can ever escape? i am nothing but what i am at this moment. the thoughts that i am thinking are nothing but who i am. and i can't escape them. and i hate myself for my brain, my body, my entire thought existence universe. for this jumble. for me. |
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