"words are poisoned darts of pleasure" FF

quarta-feira, 4 de junho de 2008

anticipation anxiety

Just how far is too far, she thought. How long can one go on sleeping without ever resting, dreaming over and over again about possibilities that can never be touched. For how long can she hold her breath? Hold her tongue? Disgusted, she felt ultimately disgusted with herself. As dirty as the grey sky and all the rubbish the wind kept swirling around her on that ghostly Sunday. Wait a second, it was Monday. Bank Holiday Monday. What are Bank holidays if not disguised Sundays? A lot of time in your hands and nothing to do with it. It reminded her of Larkin’s poetry, of life being ‘first boredom and then fear’. Maybe that was it. The tiny windmills of cigarette ends, plastic bottles and dirt reminding her that whatever shit you sweep under the rug will always find its way back to you. Uncertainty is only beautiful when you are unsure whether to get the caramel or the hazelnut latte at Starbucks. Other than that it just suffocates.

She looked at the garden beside her – it is amazing how things die so fast. Or how well life can be simulated. Last week it was blooming with the lushest Tulips, and today it was just a big dump with some daisies scattered around. Not multicoloured, but brown. True happiness, like flowers, doesn’t come out of nowhere, doesn’t bloom suddenly and is definitely not easy to achieve. It takes struggling hard against shitty weather and bloody Sun(Mon)days. And, most importantly, it is incredibly difficult to spot. She had known that for quite a while, but it was getting increasingly complicated to hold on to it. To keep searching for beauty in unexpected places.

All she wanted to do was to breathe the summer in and exhale peace of mind. But it was not up to her. She was breathing everything in and was unable to let anything out, like a balloon. Too bad that secrets and lies never took anyone anywhere.