When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Thursday, February 26, 2004
I took a long walk, and thought many thoughts. He left me with a battle field of neuronal firing, but not the one he thinks I'm bothered by.
How am I to remove the razor sharp edge that the florid words manifested from my mental congestion hold?
Would it be better to tell him my intentions, which may or may not find favour with him, or would it be better if I informed him of my actions only after I have executed my plans?
I have no idea. Seriously. My mind is in a flurry now. Yeses, noses, and maybes are swirled, twirled and tumbled in a maelstrom that threatens to completely take over my mind. How can it not be? I made an agreement to open up to him. I made an agreement to tell him certain things before they lose special meaning to me. But they do. They will. I tried to remind him subtly, gently, that there are certain things that I wanna do. Maybe they are too subtle and too gentle to get through. Maybe they aren't significant enough. I promised to help, and I did. But I guess I failed. The obvious thing to do would be to tell him point-blank, but things wouldn't be the same anymore, would they? Yet, I haven't found a way to tell him the things I want him to know, to say the correct words and to put across my message in the most innocuous and edgeless way.
When the time comes for me to say that certain things don't matter to me anymore, or has lost its inherent symbolic value to me, it doesn't necessary mean that I won't wanna carry on with it. It's just that... it's just an activity that I wanna do. Who or why or what doesn't matter anymore. It won't be special simply because it almost feels (to me) that it's an obligation that the other party has to fulfil. No more carriage, horsemen, and Cinderella's glass slippers; just the pumpkin, mice and sore feet.
First kiss; last dance. Second part of a certain epic drama, a nice picnic (or did he mention a hut and a BBQ) under the sun, carbonara somewhere, nail strengthener and a long list of other things. Do I vaguely remember him reassuring me that he remembers his words when I have already considered them as passing remarks? Being said, there's no need to attach sentiments to them anymore. They remain as the activities or luxuries as they are.
Time and again he taught me the value and importance of words blurted out - sincerely, tactlessly, or otherwise. We are both forgetful. We sometimes let certain promises or beautifully laid plans slip outta our minds completely.
It's scary how tightly he has taught me to cling on to his words. Or are they just false hopes that are really insignificant to him?
I don't know how to carry on with this blog. I really don't. I don't see the reason in dredging out things that may potentially rip the fragile fabric that we have just weaved together. Yet I know not how to escape the confrontation that inevitably comes when he asks me straight in the face and I have no ready answer for him. Not that I have no answer per se, it's just that I can't form the words. I can't.
I can only sort out my thoughts on long long walks and flush out my emotions in this cowardly blog space.
