down memory lane.

 

Reading old diaries is both terrifying and fun. Here are some conclusions that I’ve drawn from my own;

  • I am so glad that I am no longer the broken person that I was a few years ago. It’s truly horrible to read the nonsensical insights I had about why I was sad, because you can just see someone who is struggling so hard to to understand why, when there was no why,
  • I have no regrets when it comes to my past choices, even the most awful ones, yet the only thing that saddens me is that my mind was unable to distinguish between what was important and what wasn’t in terms of how much attention I was paying to certain things,
  • I feel like a completely different person now. Reading about how I felt low all the time and how I did not want to leave the house is heartbreaking, but at the same time I know I am not in that place anymore. Just now, having gone home, I went to the theatre, to a museum, to the cinema, drove to a different city, saw all of my friends and family (who I am genuinely more excited to interact with now, since I feel better about myself and less afraid of them judging me because I feel sad), and all this in the span of seven days,
  • I can easily identify the positive moments from the past. that I couldn’t at the time, because my mind was so clouded, so now I can just look back at the times I’m fond of, rather than sinking in these dreary thoughts about tragic memories,
  • A clean slate would be good. Not completely, because I don’t think that’s ever entirely possible, but as much as one can afford to change some small things.

 

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the letter I didn’t send.

I feel quite a lot of resentment towards you right now.

Because I feel used.

Because of the fact that, as I understood from your messages, this thought had been at the back of your mind for a long time, so you could have brought it up any of the times that you came over. And knowing that you were thinking this the whole time, makes me feel even more like an idiot.

Finally, because of how you handled it. It was just really upsetting and inconsiderate. I understand that it feels liberating to finally say what has been on your mind for so long, but I feel like you just didn’t think about me at all in that moment. To suddenly receive these texts out of nowhere while I was in the middle of hosting a party for people, just meant that I couldn’t even process it and that I didn’t know what to do with myself. And the fact that you couldn’t wait and then come over, and talk about this in person, but rather just wrote these throw-away facebook messages is painful.

When you’ve become attached to someone and you care a lot about them, to realise that they don’t really give a damn about you just fucking hurts.

So I’m sorry, if I’m not feeling particularly friendly at the moment.

Silence.

Looking in the mirror,
Recognising the familiar expression,
Love gets in my eyes,
It’s making me cry.

Passing my hand over my cheek,
I still remember your touch,
Passing my fingers along my collarbone,
I still feel your kisses there.

I missed you tonight,
No comfort from cigarettes,
Can’t help looking back,
I want you to stay.

Wanting to relive every moment,
We spent together,
Now dreams of distant smiles,
Looking for what seemed out of place.

A room of changing colours,
Has turned dark,
No more time,
There’s only an echoing goodbye.

Give Me Tonight.

This is a compilation of sentences from my diary. Somehow it turned into a quasi-poem.

***

Spending summer nights dancing alone,
Wishing you were there with me,
Looking out the dusty window,
On the passersby,
Imagining you by my side.

In the harsh morning light,
Your bloodshot eyes,
The slightly greying hair,
Being incredibly shy again,
Wanting to hold you in my arms.

As you were about to leave,
You said,
‘Thanks for putting up with me’,
Oh not that difficult,
When you really want to, dear.

All I want is to drink and talk with you,
The smoke from our cigarettes intertwining,
Have you sleep next to me again,
And if that’s not beautiful,
I don’t know what is.

Just can’t be anything other than who I am, I suppose.

Love, baby

Lights flashing on your windowsill,
Enveloped by the indigo haze of a lamp,
And the clouds of smoke built up,
From countless cigarettes,
You can’t help but smile.

The loneliness eating away at,
The remnants of your fragile mind,
Seems worth it,
Because it feels meaningful.

You would not exchange these,
Countless hours of thoughts,
The endless glasses of wine consumed,
All dedicated to one being,
As little he may care for you.

Irresistable melancholy,
Fills the time you have to yourself,
While you enjoy it,
Through the songs and memories,
Which bring it all together.

Not a day goes by,
In which you don’t indulge in this ritual,
Of remembering what made you weak,
Of what made you feel love,
Of what let you dream.