Development

Another Start: Losing You.

Wed, 13 May 2009 01:03:31 GMT

I know that it’s difficult.

For all the years in my life I have never felt this way; this feeling of being ripped apart, of a piece of me dying each time we must say goodbye. At times the intensity of feeling scares me; my ability to feel it, the fear that you might not feel the same way. More and more I need to be with you, to be beside you, to share the experience with you. I want to be there for every moment of elation, for every minute of sadness. I want you to be here when I am happy, I want you to be there to pick up the pieces when I feel broken, I want you to be the one to put me back together when my world is falling apart.

I need you more than you know, and perhaps you might not believe me when I express the way I feel. I see it in your eyes, that slight shadow of doubt, that unwillingness to believe and be disappointed, the hesitation in your returned smile and the delay in your voice. I need you to understand the way that I feel. There is an impossible feeling of needing to be closer even when you are close. A need for more even if there is no more to give, a need for a love that has already been given. I stand here with you and yet I feel that any time we have will never be enough, any moments we have will just be one short and that forever is no longer endless.

You and I exist together and yet we must be apart. There are hours in the day when we do nothing but think of each other and the pain and emptiness that sits deep in my chest wells up and threatens me with suffocation. And that look on your face every time we part, every time we must say goodbye cuts me deeply and my heart beats frantically against my chest in a bid to make things that cannot be fixed right.

I want to tell you how much I need you, I want to tell you how much I wish that we could stay this way forever, but your ears are deaf to me and your thoughts are so internalized that there is no space for my words, and my love, no matter how strong, cannot move past that cold barrier. You hurt me with your distance and you wound me with your silent sadness. So much of me wishes that I could stay, that I could somehow make things better for you, make parting less painful, and I would but I don’t know how.

If I had the words maybe I would tell you that instead of the bitter feeling of parting, we should think of the breathless anticipation of meeting, the electric feeling when we see each other for the first time in a day, the warmth that travels from your hands to my skin the moment we touch or the flutter of my heart beating erratically when you press your lips against mine.

But these words never leave my mind and they remain trapped in my throat and the voice that I have won’t work and the sadness doesn’t leave your face. Your desperation and loneliness remains and I am powerless against a world which seems to work to keep us apart.

I want you. I need you. I love you.

I guess that’s really all we have and I must simply hope that it is enough to keep you here with me

Broken Promises

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 13:48:48 GMT

It was in summer that he broke his first promise to me.

"I promise that I will be there" he had said with a smile, not understanding that this would eventually be a promise that would be broken, taking for granted the fact that such a promise might be difficult to live up to.

But that afternoon, though I waited and looked for him, he wasn't there. It was the first of many promises that were to be broken - it was the first suggestion that he was less than my expectations, that he was fallible and such a discovery shocked me to the core.

"I promise..." was later something I associated with unfulfilled expectations and I later came to realise that a promise only existed to be broken. 'Do not promise lightly' says the advice from the past, but we hardly ever listen to advice and only see its wisdom after the occurrence of the fact.

"I promise I wont be late", "I promise you I wont let you down", "I promise I'll only love you". These are just empty words, we say them without recognising what we are actually doing, we make these assurances in the belief that it is a reassurance rather than a promise on which our reputations rely.

He hardly kept him promises and it was only years later, in winter that I stopped him from making his last.

"I promise that I will always be there for you if you need me." he had said, and I had finally uttered the words that had been heavy in my mind.

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep." I had replied as the snow came down around us, our breath crystalising in the cold, only to be then swept away by the wind. "I don't want you to make promises anymore."

His coat snapped around his legs as the snow blew around his legs and he looked at me with such an expression of shock, pale lips blue against the cold parted in surprise, that for one moment my heart gave a lurch of remorse before I ruthlessly crushed it.

"I don't want to see you anymore."

There was only so much I could take before my faltering heart would crumble under the constant disappointment and pain.

Too many broken promises. Too many broken hearts.

Dancing

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 13:31:00 GMT

The room was bare but for the transparent curtains that hung limply on the windows and the chair in the corner of the room.

Dust motes decorated the air, a thin haze of fine particles dancing and spinning in the gentle breeze that came through the empty windows. Warm sunlight, as thick and langorous as honey poured over the unpolished floorboards, coating the room in a thick warmth only to be broken by the cool summer breeze.

It was in this room, in this thick sunshine that she danced and I stood mesmirized in the doorway. The sun set off her hair, lighting it to a blazing halo that whirled and swayed with her movements, and all I could see was the elegant gesture of limbs and the beautiful curve of her body as she moved. Her bare feet barely made a whisper of sound as she moved, sometimes on her toes, sometimes simply moving her hands to caress her own face as if she yearened for human touch.

There the slow stretching of an arm as she reached for an invisible lover, there the sweat trickled down her neck, lips parted from exertion.

She was glorious, she was beautiful and she was so breathtakingly human.

And it was in this room, watching her, that I fell in love for the first time.

Lover Alone Without Love

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 07:30:03 GMT

My heart is heavy.

It aches.

It yearns.

Everything feels as if its contained inside me and I can't escape it, because no matter how I try to deny it, no matter how I try to set these feelings aside, they refuse to be ignored and they climb to the surface and demand to be acknowledged. I cannot begin to explain that mix of elation and incredible sorrow I feel when I think of you. I cannot begin to describe the way I feel.

All I know is that you prevade my every thought. You are the sign on the tail of my breath; you have become so enmeshed in who I am, I cannot sort out where to draw the line, you have become such a part of my life.

I feel everything when I'm with you. I sit beside you and can feel the gentle movement of your chest as you draw breath, the subtle moving of lips as you speak quietly, the graceful gesturing of hands and I can imagine the heart that would beat steadily beneath my hand if only I dared.

I wish I could go back to the time when everything was much simpler, when I was enamoured with people I couldn't have, people in the realm of complete impossibility. When was it that you pushed your way into my life? When was it that I let you in?

And how can I make you leave, when I don't want you to?

Tue, 08 May 2007 06:28:31 GMT

Some days, I feel as if I couldn't breathe if you weren't here.

Some days, I feel that I would die if you weren't a part of my life.

Every second thought revolves around you; the sound of your voice, the frown when you concentrate; but most of all, the fact that you wont ever look at me.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to handle this. I've never been in this situation before.

It wasn't some incredibly epiphany when we first met. There was some measure of attraction, the way you leaned in closer to speak, the soft, gentle quality to your voice and your actions; something I had never really witnessed in a boy before. And, despite my knowledge of the opposite sex being rather limited when it came to these things, I knew you were different. It was in the way you walked, the way you interacted, the way you carefully thought about you opinion before you let them be voiced.

You would give me your complete attention when I spoke to you. You would come back the next day with something to say if you felt you hadn't properly answered the question or contributed to discussion. There was this incredible need in me to just be around you. To be in your presence. To KNOW you. Later, my friends would say that you were incredibly charismatic and charming. A modern-day Darcy. Someone who captured my attention and ran away with it. Someone who I could talk with about anything and everything under the sun; someone who I had a connection with, and so, they said, the attraction was inevitable.

It is ironic that the reason we first became so close was because of a different boy and a different girl. A boy that I liked and a girl who had broken your heart. I don't know what made me ask you that first question. What changed the conversations from being about books and other superficial materialistic items, to conversations about how isolated you felt and how you dreamt of death.

But I think that this shift in my perception of you; the shift from someone so cool and suave, to someone who was actually insecure and incredibly intense that cemented your place in my life. Without that gradual change from shallow friends to a much deeper and closer friendship, I don't think I would have ever placed you so high on the list of people I cherish.

You are like an addiction.

I cannot stop thinking about you.

I go without talking to you for a few days and I am bereft.

I don't see you and I feel incredibly frustrated.

And when I finally see you again, my heart sings in ecstacy, yet mourns the time when you will leave me.

I think I would be lost without you.

Sun, 11 Feb 2007 03:21:26 GMT

I've started writing small passages.

Nothing really specific, just something to get me back into it.

It feels a little odd.

At least it's a start.

The Perfection of Imperfection

Thu, 08 Feb 2007 01:56:44 GMT

After a long, LONG break, I've decided to try writing again.

I'm not really sure why I'd stopped and it is possible that I will stop again, but let's think optimistically and say that I wont, and that I will actually overcome procrastination and actually finish something for a change.

Hopefully I wont lose my imagination or determination before I finish this. Or whatever it is I will be writing.

So, the perfection of imperfection.

I've been beginning to think that the reason we love certain characters is because of their imperfections. I mean, if you had an absolutely perfect character, they'd be too perfect, to mary-sue-ish to incite any adoration or fondness from the audience. Rather it is their flaws, their weaknesses that make them perfect, that make them human and easy to identify with.

I think that the same applies to our perception of other people and the way we feel towards them. Sure, we love them for the good qualities they possess as people, but it is their flaws that make them more like ourselves, their weaknesses that allow us to see them as images of ourselves, different but similar. It is what makes them beautiful in our eyes.

There's also a great deal of narcissism involved in this loving of other people. If the people we knew around us were perfect in every single facet of their lives and personalities, we would feel like lesser people next to them, we would lose our confidence, we would feel more imperfect than we let ourselves believe. And so, we attach ourselves to those people who are similar to ourselves, those who make us feel better for being 'us', those that minimise our own faults because they too have faults of their own.

It is the imperfection that lets us love each other. Of course, it is not the only reason why we love others, but it is one that I believe figures quite dramatically in relationships. If I think about all the characters that I adored in books, the reason I loved them was because I could identify with them, I could understand them for their motives. I think it takes some careful creation by the author, but it is mainly the faults that they give that makes them lovable. I loved Elinor in Sense and Sensibility because of her incredibly insecurity and unwillingness to rely on others, to confide in others, that great need for privacy, the gentle determination to see things through by herself that I could identify with. Jane Austen is a genius, but I think that the same creation of characters could be achieved through careful and deliberate writing.

Well, I think that is it from myself today.

I shall write again.

Justice and Revenge

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 12:18:49 GMT

Really, what is 'justice'?

It is a thing that is mentioned so casually in society, and it is something that can get so confused and meshed with other things that may not possibly be of the same connotation.
Do we really have a clear idea of what 'justice' is? Can we really define it in simplicity?

The meaning of justice as according to the Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary is as follows:

noun. The quality of being just: integrity: impartiality: rightness: the awarding of what is due: a judge: a magistrate.

But really, isn't justice an entirely subjective thing? Who decides what is just? And if it is an entirely subjective term, how can we call it justice?

Justice is entirely too dependent on the point of view of the person seeking justice. If a person tries to reason their actions by saying it was in the name of justice, that is the wrong thing to say. As explained before in the definition, justice must be impartial, if it is not impartial, it is not justice.

But then there are so many people who believe that justice must be done according to the crime that was committed. Doesn't that confuse justice with revenge then? How can we extricate the two if they are forever intertwined? I don't believe that you can have one of them without encountering some degree of the other. Even if there is impartiality in determining justice, even if the person who decides what is just is not related in any way to the one the crime was committed against, there is still an element of revenge in the fact that you are placating the victim's anger, giving them something in order to calm that desire for revenge.

I sometimes wonder how far a person will go for revenge. How much is a person able to do, how much will they overcome in order to deal out their own revenge? There are many who say that revenge is a dish best served cold, and perhaps this is because the hurt and possibly betrayal is allowed to ferment and fester, growing as time passes, so that when revenge is finally dealt out, it is a greater pleasure than that time in the heat of the moment.

What would a person sacrifice for revenge? Would they sacrifice everything they have in order to gain it? I think that usually people who actually go to the farthest means of extracting and planning their own revenge are those that have lost everything due to the act which they are seeking revenge for. So, if a person had lost everything that wwas dear to them (family, friends, wealth, freedom, status) then perhaps, if it was in their character, they'd go off and seek revenge, sacrificing everything they had ( which is actually their own life, but they probably wouldn't consider it much of a life if they had lost everything) in their search and thirst for revenge.

Now, is revenge a thing that only people with the right characteristics are capable of, or, is it a thing that anyone has the propensity to commit. Perhaps it is a thing that everyone has a capacity for, it just takes something to bring it out. In our day to day lives, we are confronted with small acts of revenge, even though we may not realise it at the time. For example, customers who become angry with sales clerks, are the victims of revenge when the server spits in their food, or botches up customer service to make things more difficult for the customer.

In day to day life, we encounter acts of revenge, but we think nothing of it... Is this because we've sort of been desensitised, or is it that we condone these acts of revenge, because they are understandble retaliations, that the abuser deserves what comes to them? Then how can we not condone the larger acts of revenge, when it is exactly like these smaller acts, but only a larger scale, because more has been done against them, more has been taken away.

That then brings up the question of whether or not revenge is an immoral act. Is revenge immoral? Or, is it immoral to seek revenge? I think that in a way, we do not encourage revenge, moreso, that the acts that are committed during the extraction of revenge are those that are considered immoral. We may even sometimes see revenge as justified. So then, would it be safe to say that if the acts committed in revenge were not immoral, then the revenge would not be immoral. But then, revenge is still looked on negatively, because if a person, say took away another persons wealth in revenge, they would still be looked at in a negative light because there is an innate belief that the "act of revenge" is wrong. So, perhaps, some kinds of revenge will be considered immoral because the acts it involves are immoral, but revenge is always wrong, because of the motivations behind the desire.

The First Entry

Fri, 14 Jul 2006 03:42:56 GMT

Welcome!

The very first entry should have been done yesterday but I was lazy and got sucked in by all the pretty icons I could have...

Anyway, now that I have organised all my icons, I guess I should explain what this entire journal is about...

Well.... (be prepared for perhaps a rather long explanation)

I have decided to write a novel, or two or three perhaps, depending on how far I develop the storyline.
And in this litle journal, my corner of the web, if you will (I don't really think it can be considered a corner, as how can you have a corner, there are only so many corners to go around and I'm sure people would have claimed them before me, and dies the web really have corners?) I plan to explore themes and subjects that I plan to tackle in my unstarted as yet novel.

I do have another journal where I do my usual complaining and tedious explanation of my day to day activities (meme's and general thoughts and such) but I decided that I wouldn't like all my thoughts and aspirations to be put before the eyes of my friends who also use livejournal and are likely to make some supportive, but uneccesary and unwanted comments.

I'm a rather private person, if you haven't already realised. I have no idea who I'm going to ask to read a draft of my work. I hide things like this even from my parents and family. Perhaps I'll ask one of my friends.
Anyway, the only way I believe I can do this is through anonymity, thus the need for this journal.

Here, as said before themes and ideas will be thrown around as they come, feel free to comment if you're reading this, feel free to friend me and share your ideas, or constructive criticism if you have it.
None of the story will be written here, I'm very paranoid that someone will steal it, and none of the storyline will be discussed.

Personality traits, themes and general subtleties and differentiation will be discussed with no specific story revelations.

That's it from me for now, I'll write here as ideas come to me and I try to determine where the 'line' or distinction should occur.