Sunday, September 18, 2011

A diary - first


I'm scared, afraid of going away with him and of what it could mean if we do. He's the sort of person I've always wanted to be, fragile, sensitive and passionate, broken down but so immensely strong at the same time. He's truly a good man and I don't know if I will ever be able to live up to that, if I will ever feel completely at ease around him. I admire and adore him for what he is, but he makes me look at myself in a way I never asked for. Beside him I'm smaller, less significant, maybe even a lost cause. For him and for me. I should gather the strength to let him go, but something inside me, a little whispering voice, tells me not to and I just can't help but listen.

The birds have stopped coming now, empty skies over our house and a silent wind in the apple trees. I love you.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Just because you feel good

Saturday was my birthday, after 18 I've come to see it mainly as an excuse to call people and get them to come over with gifts and alcohol. They did, so we drank too much and went into the night in our pretty little vintage dresses and stiletto heeled shoes. Walking the crowded streets looking for a club I got a strange feeling of time relentlessly moving forward never to come back. Maybe it was the Black Russians or the menthol cigarettes, but for the first time I could feel in my own blood how no youth can last forever, not even mine.

We found a bar where we could dance to sad songs and get more free drinks from boys in oversized black framed glasses. An ad man named Fred tried his best to convince me we would be together for the rest of our lives if I would just give him one night, but I had to tell him that could never happen. Despite my sudden age angst and dedication to live at least that particular night to the fullest, there's one thing I would simply never do: sleep with a guy wearing an Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Dolores, we're leaving

First a forest fire and then the threat of a massive blackout. It suits my mood; outwards I might look like a power failure but I'm slowly burning on the inside. Mother is worried about her furniture and clothes even though the fire was never really near us. It suits her too.

The first lines in her diary: We've both been running from something we didn't understand, and just as we were about to settle down we're going away again. I think he loves me, maybe that's why I'm willing to do this with him. For him. It's not a good reason, but it's the only one I have. For now anyway.