Writing is not cathartic, even though its feeling of release is present; it is not enlightening, however, it provokes critical thinking; it is not, above all, entertaining, nonetheless it transports you. I write in order to rationalize interiority, to catch emic experiences with a net. Everything, however, revolves and remains inside.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Nothing will change by tomorrow
But it will have changed in another sphere
I will keep putting up with the inconsistency of happiness
Because I sacrifice myself for the wellness of my others.
I’ll try to leave without a tick on a cup
Without you ever noticing.
I’ll disappear, but I will remember the quiet nights spent with each other
And my memory will keep them alive for you;
In your reality I will still be there.
You will be fine
Reliving the best part of what we were.
We were semi-atrocious
Were awfully sexual;
God knew to refuse sexuality would be a sin we would not bear.
- ► 2007 (23)
- ▼ 2006 (13)