The static lifeIf you never feel, the smallest things to feel can blow out of proportion. This is the danger of the static life.
When you first kiss, you are nervous that she won't like it. But you do. The softness is a surprise, even though lips look soft. Tongues are warm and I think the word is interesting. The negotiation is fun, but you hope that you are getting it right.
From time to time, it occurs to me how unlikely I am to kiss someone for the first time ever again. And when I think that, I feel resentment towards Mrs Zen, because how much can whatever she wants mean to her than that means to me?
I have been profoundly sad the past couple of days. I do not have a good reason. That is the worst kind of sad that there is. If there was a reason, I could work through it. I could invent reasons. I think we tend to do that when we are feeling sad. It makes it easier to handle. But I think sometimes you are sad just because you are.
I cannot live and I cannot die. I would laugh about it if I had a sense of humour. Sometimes though, you just can't do even the most mundane things. Even the things you do every day seem pointless yet difficult. You feel your shell close in, a comforting barrier that keeps out the world. There is no particular thing in it that you don't like; it is the whole thing, the very idea of it. You imagine you are in a private snippet of space, a vacuum that has you at its centre.
I have been profoundly sad but I don't think that anyone I told would be able to allow themselves to let me feel a little less blue. Or would not know how to. Or already are but I don't know it when I see it.
Did you ever believe of yourself that all you needed was enough time to take a deep breath and compose yourself, and then you would say the thing you had been wanting to say but had not known how to word it?