Would I lie to you?
Cloudy days, covered windows, soft white light pouring through brazenly onto white walls, white sheets, white skin… Everything is warm and soft, I lie here all day and wonder if there is any better way to spend my time. Wonder if it would be so bad to live a life like this, quiet, warm, slow… Venturing into the world only for necessities and touch. Only for necessities. I wonder why I push so hard for motion, for action, for movement, for appointments and business and success… These lazy days of summer are showing me a part of myself that if I’ve seen I don’t remember. The part of me that spends two hours watching your chest rise and fall, feeling the soft purrs of the cat. The part of me that reads for hours, without fervor, without pushing, without trying to find any deeper meaning. The part of me that wants instrumental music and light that doesn’t understand the word "no," light that comes in spite of clouds and curtains. The part of me that breathes.
Maybe it’s not that you’re making it too difficult, the problem is you’re making it too easy. Too much face value… too obvious. No hidden agendas, no plans, no yearning, or waiting, or secrets.
Maybe I’m just scared because all of these lies are like curtains that I keep pulling tight and you just don’t listen when I say no. White light pouring onto white walls, white sheets, white skin.
Imagine what it would be like if I just let this be easy…
But hey, that’s really not my style. My style? More emo, panicked, obsessive compulsive and borderline. Ironic, literal, literal, double entendre–in that order.
I saw Patrick today… he insists that I should stop being so emo. Imagine if someone said that to Virginia Woolf, or Anne Sexton. There’s no need to bring up the fact that both of these women committed suicide… In the end, no one cares how you die, it’s what you produce when you’re living. Regardless, I’ll write what I wish here and feel as I feel. No one’s being forced to read it, or to live with my emotions. I’m happy as I am.
When I went to see him I’m relatively certain that I had some sort of question to ask him, however I lose my tongue around him, somehow… And my will to defend authors, music, art, philosophy, and pretty much anything else including myself. I don’t really know what I wanted or needed to hear from him other than a good, strong, "YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THESE QUESTIONS." And I do… The problem is, I have a large collection of friends contradicting me. Learning quickly that good company doesn’t necessarily equate to good advice, though. In the end I’ll do what I wish, and what the other party of this whole matter wishes, despite all of this worrying and questioning and naming.
I’m feeling self assertive tonight… Perhaps it’s my antithesis to the acquiescence a few nights ago… Even though that was really good.