Privy

My best friend and I got into a fight (or rather she went off her top and told me that she never wanted to see me again); I didn't want to blog about it, seeing that I didn't want to rant about, and trash someone who's been so close to me. But, as of late she is really making me want to unknow her. At heart, I'm not pissed off at her even though she has said, done things that really hurt my feelings; I just cannot bring myself to hate her, or be mad at her in such a manner that I will want to have absolutely nothing to do with her. I cannot go from liking someone to hating someone in just a matter of weeks. I don't even find it necessary to hate someone with a vengeance like that, or choose to behave in a manner that suggests that. I hate the way she's behaving rather than her as a person, since I feel like I'm being driven to act likewise (Despite, everything she is a really nice, and warm person - or, she can be - and to paint her the devil is not doing her any justice - really - she may at times behave like one, but she is most definitely not one). I feel like I'm an actor in a really bad play who's being directed by an incompetent director. At any rate, I've decided that if she wants to act all mad, and angry she can do so at her heart's content but I'm stepping out of this play. I've had it. I was angry with her because I thought she was being unreasonable, but now when I reflect on the matter I have reached that point where I do not care, since I do not see the point.

I just find it such a waste that we have been reduced to this. Silliness basically. Communicating in a way that feels so unnatural. To be honest, I miss her. But, in the light of things it cannot ever be like it was before, and that saddens me more than anything. It's like she's dead, and instead of acting pissed off - when, in fact, I'm not - I'd rather mourn the loss and move on. Life is for the living, n'est-ce pas?

So. I've just spent the evening with C. and it was nice to see him again, and have some time with him alone. He's accused me of not writing enough about him in my blog; to say he craves to be the centre of attention is to fall short. I would love to write about him - in a frank way - but I guess that such a character assessment would not further our friendship, and I do not want to write another blog stating that yet another friend has chosen not to talk to me - ever. Having said this, I'm not saying that I would paint a picture that is unflattering, I'm just saying that should I paint such a honest picture of him I would also show pieces of his character that he chooses - in real life, even - to rather not disclose. Even he is prudent in the way he shows himself to the world. So, why disapprove of my discretion?
He's has grown more important to me over the last few months, and I'm eternally indebted to him. And, I could list all his wonderful qualities and by so doing share him with you all, but I choose not to. I should like to speak my mind in why I choose so: I like to keep certain experiences private, and in this C. and I differ greatly. By sharing experiences that are dear to me with millions of other people I, in a way, trivialize them; I make them common. I take away the privateness. You see, by writing it down I relegate the experience to the world that is extraneous. The world of words. It becomes part of something else and ceases to be a part of me. That is one reason why people write. To write out their feelings. To distance themselves thereof. (It's all very therapeutic)
So. I write about the stuff I want to let go. The stuff I want to banish to the world of words. The stuff that merely takes up space in my head, and I had rather forget. But, somethings I like to keep private, and not share with the world.

Pure.
The day starts slowly
Like the reel of a film
Turning corners sharply
Anxiously running toward
The mill.

Pure.
In the mirror sparks fly
Flow from left to right - the line
That splits my face in half
Half grey, half white
Runs across the earth
Breathing.

Pure.
Ashes stick to my hair
The bite of life burns my neck
Around the eyes remain the stripes
Half waking, Half dead
A sideway glance toward the end
To deplore the disconnected
Gas.