Contentment. It does only go a long way. I have these drastic lapses and intense throttles into moods i love and hate. Not all lasts as long until I find a substitute for an emotion – particularly those emotions loathing with insecurity.
Feelings that you have when you feel like smacking yourself with a broomstick. Or when you feel like running in a monkey costume with a bottle Jack Daniels; down a crowded street screaming FUCK ALL THIS repeatedly in miniscule arrangements. Still it doesn’t make me feel any better. Because this was something I would never do. And the lack of courage, demolishes my capabilities of all sustainability. Then cigarettes seem like a better fix. A quick shot of whisky. Or just plain punching a fucking wall.
I have just returned from the islands. Where contentment was unparalleled. Not having to talk to my lover, who is way out transatlantic. I’m sitting on white sand, getting lost in streaking orange sunrises. Irish women swimming naked. I’m drunk and happy. The last breaths of the burning candle still twirling in the breeze, loosing its light to the sun. I had no future. No past. No relationships. Existing only in the present. The clove cigarettes were sweet. And I didn’t mind its smoke puncturing holes in my lungs – leaving a mark.
And on the midnight bus home. All thats left is memories. Really strong ones. Ones in where you could still feel the sand under the feet. Where you could remember the smell of your skin not having taken showers for weeks. And how it feels like to gulp salt water and blow it out through your nostrils, feeling okey about it and doing it again. Being myself. The way i was meant to be. And how it was never meant to last. Just because the world requires you to be someone else all the time. Every passing fucking minute. Then the memories fade. Realities seep in through the vents of the freezing cold AC on the bus home. Being 3am and I cant really sleep. The country rolls by outside my window in tropical darkness, like a dead wheel from a horse carriage, lost and confused.
I start to think about relationships again. What would I say to her. How would I unravel these experiences. The pressure of keeping things interesting. All though we have it naturally. At times the spice just dissipates. It is truly difficult to maintain a relationship when miles apart. Only connected by a telephone, void of all sense of touch (the ultimate sensation). But on the other hand, I feel it is what makes it strong. This is okey, I have love to give and it connects me to other parts of the world that feels alive to me. Time and distance are only as spacious as we make it. Separation is never to be trusted I think. It is a byproduct of hate. Where else as love connects each gleaming star in the universe, all else will fall into place.
Maybe sometimes I just need a little more affection than other days. And sometimes she is just unable to provide it. I had hurt a little, and a little insecurity might temper with my emotions. But why let fear prevail. Probably it is only my imagination that I’m afraid off. I have no control over anything — so I’m just going to feel this through. Contentment — it’s somewhere hidden in the near future. I’m sure of finding it and loosing it again. But it is something I’m always looking forward to. And forever sense its proximity.
