oh, the mind of a writer..

how do you let someone comfort you in your time of need?

these questions and more continue to roam around in my mind. i seem to know how to express myself wonderfully through words on paper or through a key board (though when i write with a pen and paper, i seem to lose my train of thought easier because my thoughts run faster then my hand can work out the english language through a pen), but when it comes to expressing myself vocally, i cant seem to put my thoughts together. i get into these strange moods that even i dont fully comprehend without the use of writing. i want to smile, frown, laugh and cry all at the same time. dont ask me to talk about it while in the moment, because i wont know what to say- wont know how to express myself effectively. but, give me a computer or a pen/pencil and some paper, leave me to my thoughts for a few minutes, and you’ll know exactly what’s going through my mind. 

am i too complex? am i too reserved with my thoughts and emotions? am i too outspoken and energetic? too flirtatious? too much of an individual? too much of a leader? too much of a follower?

thing is, im equally all of these things- perhaps thats why im so complex. perhaps thats why it’s hard to figure me out… because people seem to think they know me until i say or do something unexpected… what they dont seem to realize is this: you cant figure me out, ever, because i havent even figured myself out. dont waste your time trying to do this, because you’ll just be dissapointed. 

i’m alone. always have been, and i always will be. alone in the sense that i will never be able to comunicate my deepest thoughts and feelings through speech. i will not be alone in life, will not be alone in companionship; i’ve already found happiness and contentment in that. but i will be alone within myself. 

i’m noy shy about this; not shy about feeling this way, not shy about writing this, fully knowing that the odd person may read it and think they understand. think they can relate. you cannot. the reason why i say this is because my feelings are mine, as i have previously explained. you may be able to use my words of expression and make them your own, but then they become just that: your own; no longer mine.

i’m alone in my emotions, but not alone in being alone in my emotions. does that make sense? i dont really care- it makes sense to me. 

so, knowing all this, can i forgive someone who’s already screwed me over once, earned my forgiveness and done so again? my bitterness towards this person and people like him is my form of self-protection. i’m protecting myself from forgiving too easily (as i have been known to do) and then getting hurt in the end. but here is my dilemma: am i letting my bitterness negatively taint another person’s life? am i letting it get out of hand? am i letting it taint my life? am i letting it turn into something more evil then just mere bitterness?

“life’s too short to hold grudges”- J.

His words ring in my head making me second guess myself and my actions…

there’s a reason why he repeated the forgiveness, why he re-sang that part. listen to it. 

letting my thoughts show themselves on paper before in my mind now, i’m searching for answers only i can provide. pages and pages may go by, and still i may not find what im looking for. i’m full, hungry, upset and happy. in love. now, and probably always will be. and yet, i continue looking for my answers. 

no, i dont mind your habits, your vices, your mood swings, your sadness, your voice, your talents. i dont mind you playing that beautiful guitar, singing in a way only you can. it provides calmness, a sense of insight. happiness, contentment. 

“what are you writing about?” -you, of course. 

always you, because you are a constant theme in my thoughts, and those are what appear on paper. my thoughts; thus: you. I’ve never had someone capture every part of me so completely before; i am yours. and im completely okay with that. 

pages and pages of messy hand writing. and still, i do not have a point; i dont have an answer. soothing myself; i need some smoke in my lungs. it always goes so well with thoughs and tea. with writing. cynical, am i? perhaps. 

i have my cigarette (i like that word; makes it sound so sophisticated, like something Audry Hepburn would say in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), and now i can keep going. continue on in my mindless writing, though it does have a point. what is it? i’ll let you know when i find out. 

tap, tap, tap. i hear it, i perceive it. i dont know where it’s coming from… a deep memory? voices from my childhood? i wish i could go back; forward. i’m lost, yet i know where i am. 

farewell, goodbye, good luck.

-Amber Christina