 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
I like to think
Hmm. I had a long talk with Ashton last night. It was a longer-than-two hours conversation, about everything. I've never had such a close in-person friend that I feel safe enough to tell everything to. I'm a pretty open person, someone I don't know can know whatever they want to know about me. I don't keep secrets, really, not big ones that I long to tell someone but can't. If someone tells me something they don't want repeated, I'll take it to my grave. If someone tells me to forget something, I'll inevitably forget it. I like to think that I don't push on gossip; I like to think that I don't talk bad behind other's backs. I like to think that I'm imperfect, because perfection was something I've tried and never want to go back to. I'm trying on the hats of life, seeing which fits, and making some changes here and there. Some are too small to cover my ears, and I feel chilly; some are large enough to cover my eyes, and I can't see what's wrong. It'll take a sharp pair of scissors and some good thread along the way, but I like to think that I'll end up happy. Happy and content, happy with who I am, able to make my friends happy. If there's anything I really love, it's happiness. And I find it unusual. People look up to me. People sometimes don't realize it, even, I suppose. Nor do I, unless it's directly stated at times. I like to think that people find joy in me, but I hope they aren't jealous. Jealousy is one hell of a horrible thing. And what's the point? It's not a desperate question, this time. I'm not looking for an answer. I'm not giving up, what is there left once you let yourself go? I'm too stubborn to let myself fall. I like to think my stubbornness has gotten me far. I like to think that the reason I know so many wonderful people is because I was determined not to stay a shy wallpaper-doormat girl. I like to think that I can keep the friends I have and continue to make them. That I'll continue to learn from them. I like to think that I'll make the right decisions. That the time won't come when I'll look back in retrospect and wish like hell I'd done the other thing. I know there will be a time when I'll regret it. I'll learn from it, I suppose. There's a lot to learn from your mistakes and so many people just don't let themselves learn. And I hope I'm not growing up too fast. I hope I can still enjoy life without looking for the deeper meaning. Turning life into a machine. Everything becomes a machine eventually, have you noticed? Once upon a time, a peddler made shoes, a mathematician figured out all the hard problems of life. Now we have, what, assembly-line-machines and calculators. They make things easier, I suppose. But what fun is the game when you've got all the cheats? I suppose that's the way some people, like my brother, would understand it. And life isn't about finding the loopholes and glitches in the game, though if that makes you happy, go for it. What is life about, anyway? We only seem to know what's wrong. What's right. It's the black and white, the cold just like the machine. The line between black and white, what color is it? There is no grey in right and wrong, they say. So bright a difference, a sudden contrast, it hurts your eyes. A cold knife edge of stainless steel, gliding through flesh and blood without caring. Is this what life is to become? Easy? Empty? Pointless? I hope not. I mustn't become a machine. I like to think about these things. Good night. -Adrienne
E-mail
+ Notes
+ Book
+ Domain
+ Xanga Everything
here is © Adrienne
Wolter 2001-2007, unless otherwise noted. Do not steal, and
do not be offended. |
