I find Oliver staring at me. “Do you miss Jess?”
“Yes. She was my friend.”
“Then why don’t you show it?”
“Why should I?” I ask, sitting up. “If I know I feel it, that’s what counts. Don’t you ever look at someone who’s hysterical in public and wonder if it’s because they really feel miserable or because they want others to know they’re miserable? It kind of dilutes the emotion if you display it for the whole world to see. Makes it less pure.”
House Rules, Jodi Picoult
“There’s a reason I said I’d be happy alone. It wasn’t because I thought I’d be happy alone; it was because I thought if I loved someone and it fell apart, I might not make it. It’s easier to be alone because what if you learn that you need love and then you don’t have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage; it’s life, dying. The only difference is death ends.
This, it could go on forever.”
Unaccompanied Minor, Grey’s Anatomy
“There are dreamers and there are realists in this world. You’d think the realists would find the realists and dreamers would find the dreamers, but more often than not, the opposite is true.
You see, the dreamers need the realists to keep them from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists… Well, without the dreamers, they might not ever get off the ground.”
– Punkin Chunkin, Modern Family
I need to find my realist.
“And some days were good, and some days were bad, and then there was a whole lotta other days in between that really weren’t anything at all.
Just existence. Just getting the job done.”
– Lisa Gardner, Hide
“Someone real,” I hear myself saying. “Someone who never has to pretend, and who I never have to pretend around. Someone who’s smart, but knows how to laugh at himself. Someone who would listen to a symphony and start to cry, because he understands that music can be too big for words. Someone who knows me better than I know myself. Someone I want to talk to first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Someone I feel like I’ve known my whole life, even if I haven’t.”
Jodi Picoult, Sing You Home
… But I guess there’s a reason why fiction is fiction, and reality is reality, and that there will always be that line separating the two.
To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because ‘it’ is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over it is not made anodyne by death. The hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
Written On The Body
I seem to have let this space wither away. Updating sporadically via mobile kinda keeps it alive, but just barely, methinks. Time is of the essence indeed, and it is time itself that I seem to be lacking these days. Or to be more specific, time during which I am productive – I’m shamefully admitting that on the rare days that I have to myself, I choose to just shut myself out from the world, literally draw the curtains of the windows close and just hole up within four walls for the entire day or two.
I hardly even pen any fleeting thoughts down these days; I’d choose to just close my eyes & sleep everything away instead.
How is it that one is able to lose their vigor for life so easily?
Or a better question would be – how does one get back that intensity to wake up in the mornings & LIVE each day to its maximum potential?
This isn’t what I want, but I’ll take the high road. Maybe it’s because I look at everything as a lesson, or I don’t want to walk around angry.
Or maybe it’s because I finally understand.
There are things we don’t want to happen, but have to accept; things we don’t want to know, but have to learn, and people we can’t live without, but have to let go.
JJ, Criminal Minds