I�m feeling lovesick right now. But not for a person. Lovesick for the world, for nostalgia, for something just out of reach.
You know how I get. It doesn�t take much for me to feel this way. I�m like a Frenchman trapped in a female body. Maybe I read too much Sartre in college. Maybe I should invest in a beret and waste hours in cafes writing about who I've slept with and whether I exist.
Maybe it�s just autumn. I feel like sighing and recollecting and thinking too much about insignificant moments.
My life is a like a slow moving foreign film that surprises now and then with something uncensored and shocking by our standards, before dissipating artfully back into quiet wistful solitude. The film is grainy, with brief flashes of light and alternating blurs. The memories are so beautiful and wrong and right and real.
I miss everything. And everyone, including those I intentionally avoid, but still secretly love.
But I don�t want to make any more mistakes. I�m anemic. I�ve been living in a different language. Leaves are beginning to fall. I�m homesick for the road. We're all a bit older.
I don�t want to be crazy like my mother.
I�m scared silent.
But I�m not quite done living yet.
12:07 p.m. - 2008-10-14