It's almost been a year since I last wrote. So many small notebooks, with nice hardcovers, each assigned to a different activity (Chinese, German, functional analysis, writing lists about lists...) and all of them have remained untouched for a while.
So much to tell, so little to say.
There are so many memories I'd like to hold close to me, yet my mind is constantly flashed with day-to-day shit and they slip through the edges of my fingers. It doesn't seem to matter how hard I try to keep my fingers close to each other, lots of things are suddenly and irreparably lost.
We can't control everything.
However, when these cold days swing by again, I feel the chill down on my spine. And then, it struck me: I miss you. Miss your craziness all over the place, your thoughts on smoke drifting away who knows where...
You can't stay, and for now, I can't go. (I also miss the other, but that's another day story)
There's a story I'd like you to read, if you can:
I saw Les Mis performed by my students (they were amazing), and got tickets for the next day for the show Next to Normal. The idea of meeting the main character performer lingered on my mind. I have never been an artist follower wacko, but it would've so refreshing to meet him personally and that he might want to hang out sometime. (Anthropomorphic illusion does weird stuff to our brains, n'est-ce pas?) As I went to my friend's house, the cold air made me sink further inside my coat and imagine what would such an encounter be like.
Saturday afternoon: I went to watch Les Mis again with two friends. Who was there? That same next to normal guy... I talked to him and no sparkle went off... I felt flat normal and he must have felt completely stalked. It was a loooooooong shot and at least I got to speak to him.
After that I felt such a teenager, I had to phone a friend and tell her. A sudden rush of red went all over my body and I could help but to move frantically so as to diminish the excitement I had just felt.
Well, we didn't like me... but I kinda felt like my old-young-intrepid-fun-not-so-crazy-self.
I had been stolen away from me a couple of years ago, I've been numb for a while now.
I have kept myself for doing stuff for a long while... As I remembered you smoking on the piano, enjoying a good book or getting ticklish with a new idea for a poem, I remember who I wanted to be. I thank you.
Oh, world here I come!
