Points of view.
'What are we?' I regret talking before I even finish the sentence, but it's too late now. I really need to know the answer anyway, it's something I need to understand before I can even begin sorting out my life.
'We're friends, idiot. Can't you even realize this? You're my best friend, and I love you.' I knew your answer would be similar to this. I've been trying to convince myself that's true for ages, repeating the words best friends over and over again in my mind until they lost all meanings; hearing you say those two words makes even less sense.
'Define friends,' I insist, wondering why. Do I really want to know? It's going to hurt me.
'Are you serious?' Seeing that I'm not answering, you go on talking. 'A friend is someone I can't live without, someone that makes me feel special, almost like I'm invincible, someone I love and care about more than I care about myself.'
It's even worse than I thought. For some reason, I can't think of what you just said applying to us, to you and me. 'Do I really mean that much to you?' I ask, almost scared of the answer. I'm afraid you will say yes.
'Idiot. I already told you a million times, and I'm sick of saying it, so make sure you remember it this time, because I'm not going to say it anymore. You. Are. Special.' I can feel my heartbeat go crazy when you say those words, and it hurts. For some reason, hearing someone I love tell me how much I mean to them always makes me feel bad. Maybe it's because the words special or important sound ridiculous when someone says them about me. I freeze, not daring to say a word.
After a while you break the silence. 'Come here next to me, you're too far away.' Even though there's nothing in the world I want more than to be next to you, I somehow manage to control myself and shake my head. 'No, I don't want to get up. I'm quite comfortable here, thanks.'
You look at me, raising your eyebrows; we both know who's going to win this battle. 'Come on,' you say opening your arms and smiling. I get up with a sigh and sit on the couch, trying to keep some distance between us, but it's impossible to resist you when you look at me like that. I hold you close and look you in the eyes, never wanting to let you go; I want to kiss you on the cheek but you almost casually turn your head, and our lips meet. It doesn't last more than a second, a slow, painfully perfect moment. I rest my head on your chest with my eyes closed, but after some minutes I feel the urge to talk again, to ask another of my stupid questions.
'Best friends?'
And now I wonder, do you really need to give things a name? Do you really need a word to define something so wonderful? Maybe it's enough just to know that you love that thing (or person), maybe you don't need to give a name to that feeling to just enjoy it.
Strangers when we meet
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we sleep
This is weird, and it took me a lot of time to write it, mainly because I didn't know what I wanted to write about. A dream was the main inspiration for it, along with the song Perfect by Smashing Pumpkins (especially the lyrics above). It's not a true story at all, but some sentences are real things that someone said in the past, and I thought would fit the situation. Half of the dialogue between the two people is just me arguing with myself anyway. Thanks for reading.
'We're friends, idiot. Can't you even realize this? You're my best friend, and I love you.' I knew your answer would be similar to this. I've been trying to convince myself that's true for ages, repeating the words best friends over and over again in my mind until they lost all meanings; hearing you say those two words makes even less sense.
'Define friends,' I insist, wondering why. Do I really want to know? It's going to hurt me.
'Are you serious?' Seeing that I'm not answering, you go on talking. 'A friend is someone I can't live without, someone that makes me feel special, almost like I'm invincible, someone I love and care about more than I care about myself.'
It's even worse than I thought. For some reason, I can't think of what you just said applying to us, to you and me. 'Do I really mean that much to you?' I ask, almost scared of the answer. I'm afraid you will say yes.
'Idiot. I already told you a million times, and I'm sick of saying it, so make sure you remember it this time, because I'm not going to say it anymore. You. Are. Special.' I can feel my heartbeat go crazy when you say those words, and it hurts. For some reason, hearing someone I love tell me how much I mean to them always makes me feel bad. Maybe it's because the words special or important sound ridiculous when someone says them about me. I freeze, not daring to say a word.
After a while you break the silence. 'Come here next to me, you're too far away.' Even though there's nothing in the world I want more than to be next to you, I somehow manage to control myself and shake my head. 'No, I don't want to get up. I'm quite comfortable here, thanks.'
You look at me, raising your eyebrows; we both know who's going to win this battle. 'Come on,' you say opening your arms and smiling. I get up with a sigh and sit on the couch, trying to keep some distance between us, but it's impossible to resist you when you look at me like that. I hold you close and look you in the eyes, never wanting to let you go; I want to kiss you on the cheek but you almost casually turn your head, and our lips meet. It doesn't last more than a second, a slow, painfully perfect moment. I rest my head on your chest with my eyes closed, but after some minutes I feel the urge to talk again, to ask another of my stupid questions.
'Best friends?'
And now I wonder, do you really need to give things a name? Do you really need a word to define something so wonderful? Maybe it's enough just to know that you love that thing (or person), maybe you don't need to give a name to that feeling to just enjoy it.
Strangers when we meet
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we sleep
This is weird, and it took me a lot of time to write it, mainly because I didn't know what I wanted to write about. A dream was the main inspiration for it, along with the song Perfect by Smashing Pumpkins (especially the lyrics above). It's not a true story at all, but some sentences are real things that someone said in the past, and I thought would fit the situation. Half of the dialogue between the two people is just me arguing with myself anyway. Thanks for reading.
I think it's pretty good, you wrote a really good dynamic between the two people. It's nice, I get a good feeling inside when I read it =)
Hiphopopotamus, October 22nd, 2008 at 01:38:41pm
愛していま す。私はあ なたの痛み になるとは 思いません 。あなたは 私と話をす ることがで きます。
*hugs* That will make no sense when translated back, but I hope you get the gist.
TO BE DELETED, October 22nd, 2008 at 09:54:53am
You have a very nice writing style,
like told in the here and now instead of a recallation?
Idk how to describe it.
Nice though :]
Funeral Party, October 21st, 2008 at 08:42:06pm
Your blogs are amazing.
They all have this way of painting an image in my mind and while I read I can see it almost perfectly. Great job. : ]
threeam., October 21st, 2008 at 08:32:23pm
That is so awesome; so beautiful. This is just an awesome blog. In a way, it's kinda how I feel. Not quite, but a little. :]
This is just amazing.
In My Insanity, October 21st, 2008 at 07:18:37pm
this is amazing, el. i can't imagine how hard it was to write it. i hope you know that she was right, though. you are you special. you're an amazing person, and i'm so glad i met you, well, internet met you. i haven't met met you. but that would be awesome if i do someday. :D but as i was saying, laying your dreams out for the world to see is hard, and you make it look easy. and the way you wrote it is flawless, as always. ilyfiwation.
get famous, October 21st, 2008 at 06:08:37pm
great bolg El. dammit i wish i could write that good. and dammit you are important.
*hug*
Pretty Rave Girl, October 21st, 2008 at 06:00:40pm