неделя, август 08, 2010
понеделник, март 08, 2010
Обичам да съм сама. Била съм сама много дълго време...в повечето време всъщност. Постоянното присъствие на някой около мен ме дразни.
Винаги съм искала да изглеждам като самостоятелна и независима...необвързана...
И ето ме сега - след като останах най-накрая сама след няколко дни, се чувствам зле - толкова сама като последния човек на Земята...
вторник, февруари 16, 2010
неделя, февруари 14, 2010
Любовта е вечна.
събота, януари 30, 2010
неделя, януари 24, 2010
изгубена и жадна,
с разкъсана от огнения вятър рокля на цветя.
Ще скитам със невиждащи от слънцето очи
през ситния й пясък,
но ще вървя, за да достигна края й.
Ако не беше толкова невероятно сам,
сега щях да съм тук,
а тази пустиня нямаше да я има..."
I found this letter somewhere and it is very close to my feelings right now:
"I write this letter to let you know that I still think about you, quite often as a matter of fact. My intentions of writing to you are quite simple, at least in my eyes. I do not wish to cause you any confusion, hurt, or dissension or anything negative. I simply need to know what happened. It's often said that "The truth will set you free".
I can see why someone would say that. It is very difficult to live without truth. One of the most difficult experiences one can go through is to always have to wonder. To have to wonder what happened - to wonder what if? Not knowing what happened and being left with an imagination to come up with a million and one scenarios of what could have gone wrong is a cruel joke of fate.
The worst part is that there is never any closure from an overactive imagination. There will always be another scenario to run through and always-another reason to try and explain away the pain. But unless it is an explanation coming from you, none of them are any good. I write all this to tell you that I need to know what happened. I need to know why you withdrew from me. I need to know why you disappeared from my life.
I need to know why you did not or could not tell me. What was it? Was it me? Was it you? Was it the distance between us? Was it that the timing was just wrong? I could name a hundred more "was it" thanks to a vibrant imagination. But I do not want to imagine any longer. I am tired. I am tired of thinking and rethinking, analyzing and reanalyzing every word that was spoken, or not spoken.
I am tired of thinking that maybe it was something that I said, or maybe didn't say; or maybe how l said it. Or maybe it was something I did or didn't do. Or maybe I said too much, or maybe I didn't say enough. Or maybe it wasn't even me at all. Maybe it was all you. Maybe I did everything fine but it was all on you. Maybe you were going through something awful or difficult and didn't want me to know or be involved. Or maybe you just didn't want me anymore and had found someone else. As painful as that reality might be, it's more hurtful not to know. To have to sit and wonder day after day is absolute pure torture. Perhaps that was your intention, for me to suffer. Try as I might, I cannot allow myself to believe that. I know you are a better person than that. But when one is left only with their imagination, countless explanations come up. That is why I ask you to please simply tell me the truth. I need to know what happened. I need to know the truth so that I can be set free."
сряда, януари 13, 2010
“Тя седеше до масата, подпряла глава на ръцете си, и гледаше замечтано трепкащото пламъче на една свещичка.
- Тя … тя изглежда някак самотна – каза Аника и гласът й потрепери. – О, Томи, да беше сутрин, та да идем веднага при нея.
- Дано погледне насам, за да й помахаме – прошепна Томи.
Но Пипи гледаше право пред себе си със замечтан поглед.
После духна свещичката.”