i wonder if there really is such a thing as diluting oneself in time and space and countless medical books and the same traffic lights you wait for everyday and that one person that makes you forget everything else (like this need to struggle to place the right words in the right place, to be alone, to wander off the streets and looking up to trace those vapour trails against the blue background, to keep at least one feet onto the firm ground, to die in the weekends and woke up, everytime, with such a start) or whether this is just who i am from the very beginning.

to let the words come and go, falling in and out of my head but with such an absurd speed, like little spiders spinding silk threads of webs, building its form, and then there and then a person yelled, the phone rang, the lecture hall echoed with laughter and just like that they're gone, those little intricate fibres of words, until nothing is left. but the sad cause is not that but the small effort i make everyday to retrieve them, it was nothing near struggle, only those occasional recalls when my mind wander off too far while taking a shower. and then the water turns cold and the reminder of the pile of books full of names of what build us, us in the languages ive never understood and again the search was abandoned. the sad thing is, it doesnt pain me anymore. like a am fully aware of myself letting them go and not being bothered by it.

maybe life gets in the way, maybe being alone makes you lose things that remind you of you, maybe this is just the way i am from the very beginning. all i know is i dont want this. this weird fear of if you turn off everything else from the outside, it would be frighteningly silent in your head.

Labels: books, im going to write anyway, medicine rocks my world, sylvia plath, the bell jar