It's so hard.
I wish that I didn't have to do this.
I'm too weak.
Why do we continuously love the ones who hurt us even though it is completely illogical to do so?
This is the first day of my life
I swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach
Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Now I don’t know where I am
I don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go
And so I thought I’d let you know
That these things take forever
I especially am slow
But I realize that I need you
And I wondered if I could come home
Remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning
And I thought it was strange you said everything changed
You felt as if you'd just woke up
And you said “this is the first day of my life
I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you
But now I don’t care I could go anywhere with you
And I’d probably be happy”
So if you want to be with me
With these things there’s no telling
We just have to wait and see
But I’d rather be working for a paycheck
Than waiting to win the lottery
Besides maybe this time is different
I mean I really think you like me
----
Beautiful tune.
I try not to be too discouraged because I see it everywhere. That must mean that it exists, that it isn't something so far away, unattainable, so abstract that I cannot fathom the intensity and depth of what it encases. It isn't something that I can't have. In fact, it is completely attainable to me. I only see hardship in it because of the complex nature in human beings.
We fall in love. With an ideal, with a perception and image in our mind's eye of someone or someone specific. This toys with our intentions, our motives. "Did I go to this concert because I know he'd be there? Did I avoid this party because I knew he would be there?" This ideal clouds us, makes us believe things that don't happen, things that aren't real, that can't be real.
But the Cloud is so real. It hurts us. It makes us explode with joy, sickness, aching. The Cloud tears us into tiny bits and pieces so anxious to love our ideal, this cloudy image of someone that we have created. Fiction.
I find that this Cloud impairs us from seeing or wanting to feel what is presented to us. We hope that if we wait long enough, the Ideal will emerge into real life and become part of us. We want to linger in our dreams, in our desires, so we do not have to deal with someone who may in fact love us. Because the reality might be far too unimaginable.
I tend to be stuck in this dream world. I see Clouds all the time. I fall, hurt, and then pick myself up for another cloud. If I were much stronger, I suppose that I could break away from this nonsense. But the Cloud helps me to feel. I feel like my dreams are nothing short of reality. That everything is a possibility. That everything is possible. That the possibility is there.
Unfortunately it isn't. Every person I have grown attached to now has someone that they love. I think to myself "Was my love not good enough?" And the truth is, no, it wasn't good enough.
Intentions. Intentions are everything. The first was the idea that this was new, this was a new place so I deserved to find someone. The second was the idea that I wanted someone to make me happy. The fourth was because I was lonely. The fifth was physical.
The third. That was real. But not enough.
Intentions are what fuel the cloud. If we want a certain emotion reciprocated back to us, we want it forced, automatic. We feel deserving of something that we are so undeserving of.
I know it exists because I see it everywhere. I see it outside, amongst my friends, amongst my enemies. I see it everywhere, blooming, scattering across this city called Boston like a fierce firestorm. But I feel discouraged because to me, this reality is only a dream. I hate clouds.
You intoxicate my soul.
You are the smell before rain.
You hear my every sound.
I'm going to be the best fucking friend you've ever had.
It'll happen.
RIP Gianna Esposito.
Forever my driving buddy.
