021Oily
every three days I open one of these silly blue1 pages, i have so many thoughts doing somersaults in my heart, and i dont have the slightest clue how to put them into words.
how do you explain to someone the way it feels to spend 5 hours in a voicecall with the dog you met two weeks ago, and whom you suspect you are about another two weeks from falling helplessly in love with?
you can talk as much as you like about the comfort of it, the words exchanged, the feelings shared, and none of it will actually transfer the sensation of heart-full contentment that you felt in the moments just before saying goodbye for the evening.
how do you explain to someone how it feels to be sitting in a room under a blanket of computer noise and mismatched lighting, while two of your three dearest creatures cook dinner and the air fills with the smell of oily meat (but its way nicer than that phrase implies).
how do you tell them about the rotten sensation at the edges of your heart, because this should be a perfect moment of familial peace and instead you're aching for things to be 25% different?
the worst part is, you can't even bring yourself to feel ugly about it.
how do you capture in words the violent impulse to change the world so that its a little more pleasant, an impulse that naturally contradicts itself. how the fuck do you even justify those words?
take a breath.
take another.
linger here.
this isn't what we came here to write about.
today I asked a girl what her favourite videogame was, and in the answer to that question I think I learnt both the most and paradoxically least important fact I will ever know about her2.
this is the joy of words. you think you know exactly how they're gonna go, and then they just don't.
sometimes thats wonderful. you spend an afternoon asking your crush dumb questions from a 5th grade job interview roleplay, and its one of the nicest bonding experiences you've had with a new person in a while. she asks you what music you like, and when you ramble about genres and inherited tastes and the eras of your life for far too long, she's fascinated and happy rather than disillusioned.
other times you try and write a heartfelt blog post, and it comes out as uninspired and impersonal drivel.
sometimes you try and make a point, and the point becomes a shovel that digs you rapidly deeper into the hole you didn't realise was there until the rank soil suddenly swallows you up.
sometimes your best friend texts you the word 'heart', and that single syllable carries more meaning than three paragraphs of self-justification ever will.
linger here again.
none of that breathing bullshit this time. i've always hated that.
just stay a moment.
what are you thinking about? think about that.
think about it.
how do these words make you feel?
i dont expect the answer to be grandiose or dramatic. you're probably mostly bored, mind already halfway to the next thing.
but i want you to stop and think about it for a moment regardless. just be consciously aware of your own thinking.
thanks.
today I felt content, and angry, and a different kind of content, and then the same angry but more. now i mostly feel numb.
what about you?