My life - part 4
Why part 4? Cause I like the number. And I don't care what happened with part 1, 2 and 3. Now I am living part 4.This is for ... you know who. And if you don't, then it's not for you.
I feel like I want to get closer to you, to be more of a part of your life. Your role-model life. I guess I want to be more than a regular friend to you, as you start to become more than that, too. We are alike in some ways. And in others, I'd just like to be more like you, I guess. As you can tell, I do much better expressing myself in writing that verbally, when I always use "like", "I don't know", "maybe", and other stupid useless crap. When I write, I have more time to think and to construct the phrase, to choose the better word, to say what I really mean, to pause when I need to, to pour ideas when they come flooding in. It's a big challenge for me writing my most precious thoughts in English. I try to put into words what I feel exactly, but sometimes it just doesn't work. Or it just doesn't sound right, because you can tell that someone else already said it better. How about keeping it simple? I guess that's what a foreign language does to you, it keeps things simple, basic. So all of this to say that yes, I would love to spend one morning with you, helping, more or less. I guess you're a good influence.
posted by Bambi @ 7:40 PM
3 Comments:
Part 1, I guess
When I was fifteen, I maintained a very long (years long) correspondence with a girl my age that I saw every single day. We were classmates, but we were not sitting next to one another, so our friendship had to find a way to develop elsewhere. So we turned to writing letters. Every day. For years. I lived to read those letters she wrote the night before. I couldn't wait to go back home so I can write all the stuff that I couldn't tell her during the day. It was, most likely, the fullest part of my life, lived at the greatest intensity. Not only have I lived those years, but I have re-lived every moment of it by writing about it. They're all still at home, all the letters she gave me. I least I have something palpable to remind me of those times. It's a treasured part of my life, it's the time I grew up the most as a person who feels and express herself, when I discovered that every single detail of my outer life has an imprint on my inner one. This went on for years. Every day, a secret exchange of letters, between two teenage girls who had no secret from one another. I guess I can say that I lived those years twice, once as myself, and a second time, as my friend, through her writing. My life has always been blessed with special people around me. I am used to living my life through another. Through a friend. I could write to you, I guess, a letter a day, but that's such an imposition. Although I really think you could be a great listener, well OK, reader. Unfortunately, we're not fifteen anymore, and our lives have lost, I presume, all the innocence and worriless-ness of the teenage years. We're now adults, and have to act as such. I wish I could be fifteen once again with you. Just this once. Please.
Friday the 13th
Nothing bad happened this day. Au contraire ... So many good things, and so many blessings around me, I am lucky to be surrounded by so many good people.
Maybe Friday the 13th is a lucky day after all.
It has only been a day, and I can't stop thinking about it. I wish time would go by faster now, just a little bit, and give me a little extra time when I need it. Next week maybe. I am, as always, in a fantasy world. A new fantasy nowadays.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home