So here it is, 4 in the morning, I just finished watching Closer, and I'm sitting here, surrounded by unsatisfaction (that's not even a word). I want sleep, I want love, I want sex, I want it all. I want to know who I am and what I want, I want to be as strong as I appear, I want to be successful in the things I do. I want to actually do the things I say I'll do.
I want the world, basically.
And this is a pretty honest post, as far as these things go, but I just have this urge to say something true, something real, something maybe I'm scared about. But at least it's the truth. Because, really...
Someone recently told me that being a good friend meant letting your friends lie to themselves, letting them get away with their own personal brand of bullshit. I really hate to think that he's right, and I denied that remark with all the strength I had, as thrown as I was by the severity of the statement. But I have to admit (while I'm being honest here) that it's at least partly true. Or true for specific people. Or something like that. But there's an element of truth to it that bothers me, and I can't pinpoint where or why.
So here I am, 4 in the morning, writing.
Does any of this actually mean anything? Does it ever make a difference?
Somehow I feel all of my posts are written around questions, the answers too elusive and perhaps too consistently changing to find.
Truth changes forms.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment