I know I feel again.

There’s always music to indulge in. There’s always an escape from the thoughts about what you need to do on your first real day off for 4-5 weeks. Those thoughts don’t realize that music is the only real activity when there’s time. That and reading. Immersing yourself in art. Why don’t I paint? Seriously, I’ve never really given it a chance, but I have always had a feeling that painting would be something I could enjoy. Maybe I’m just saving it for when there’s nothing else to do. When there’s no more music to be heard. No more books to be read. No more poems to be written. I should start writing longer stories. I feel like it’s that time of year. That time of my life? To delve deeper in myself. Find out what I really think. What stories I really want to tell. Poetry is great. It can be so intense. But sometimes it just comes up short when telling a story. More words needed. I started writing a story that was intended to become a long story here on the blog. But I never got past the first part. I’m afraid I’m no longer in the same mood I was when I started writing that, and I don’t think I can keep going on that one. It will have to be something new. Something that’s probably not as based on my own life. Perhaps just taking themes instead of events from my life. When I learn to tell a long story, I believe that’s when I find out what way to become great. At the moment my interests have shrunken. I start feeling the heat of education. It takes a toll to read everything you’ve been assigned. Especially when you want to read different stuff at the same time. I’ve got a whole stack of old sci-fi novels staring me down from the shelf; bought them at a second-hand book fair a couple of weeks ago. I knew it would be a bad idea. They would make me feel like I didn’t do what I set myself up to do. That’s how I feel right now. I have so many books lying around, not just the sci-fi’s but all kinds of used books and some larger collections that I haven’t read, but fully intended to read when I bought them. And still intend to read. I just haven’t quite come around to it yet. Instead I’m re-reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas alongside my assigned reading. It makes no sense other than pleasure. It’s pleasure reading. Did Hunter S. Thompson ever intend Fear and Loathing to be pleasure reading? He must have. I’m really focused on concerts these weeks. Had some amazing ones a few days ago. Yo La Tengo and Mount Kimbie. Both extremely good for very different reasons. Hearing a band like Yo La Tengo is simply an epiphany. You can tell when a band has been together for 30 years without being inactive for longer periods. Their first set was a very nice, quiet set. A lot of sweet songs. Everyone was happy. Then the curtains came down and they reset the stage. Now – in the middle of this pause, I shared some long looks with a female member of the audience. We were equally awed at the fact that they had to drop the curtains to reset the stage, and her boyfriend had just left to get them some beer. She had the most interesting face I’ve seen in a while. Short bangs, long hair down the neck, a small nose, slightly pointy, and eyes that just mesmerized you. By god, for all the “wauw”-ness of the situation, of looking at her, I was terribly glad she had a boyfriend. She was the kind of girl who can break your heart in an instant. Had he not been there, I would have had no good reason not to take her hand and enter a nightmare of wonderfully hurting love. The curtains were raised again and Yo La Tengo came back on stage. I stood next to the girl by now; the crowd had been re-designed during the break. Her boyfriend was on the other side of her. Yo La Tengo began a frantic set of amazing noise. Every ending of a song started the next. There was never a break. It was just 1-1,5 hours of noise joy. And every now and then our hands would touch. It was electric. Again; thank god she had a boyfriend. I would have been head over heels for her, I would have thrown everything in the gutter for her. I would have made her my new All. The concert ended. What a beautiful concert. And we walked out. I saw her on the stairs. She looked back at me. I still recollect her face throughout the entire evening. She went down the stairs and I haven’t seen her since. Chances are I never will again. If I could rip out a month of the calendar and sacrifice it on sweet, sweet love, I would choose her. But not in the real World. Not with everything on the line. Not with a future that, for the first time in a lifetime, looks bright. Not her. Not now. But the whole episode has been really good for me. I’ve realized I’m ready to fall in love again; or, at least I start seeing the beauty again. As I’ve been writing about, I’ve wondered where my next love would come from. Suddenly the World is full of loves. In the bus a week ago, I saw the sweetest girl. She just sat there, reading her book and paying no attention to life outside of her – until she glanced at me. I was hopelessly trying to stuff all my luggage in to the booth. And she glanced at me, in that moment of absolute lack of control. I caught her eyes, and she smiled. Such a pretty smile. I’d seen her before. I knew where she lived. We had walked past each other once. Back then she smiled as well, and the rest of my walk I had been filled with such a joy, such a hope… for everything. Hell, even for humanity. She just inspires hope in me. She went back to her book, I went back to my thoughts of glorious humanity, and we were just that: two minds occupied with our own thinking whilst being moved by the bus. When she got off, she gave me a new glance and smile, I smiled back. Trying to show her that her smiling was all I could wish for in this World. She got out. She stood waiting for the bus to pass, and when it did, she just stood there, smiling at me rolling by. I knew deep in my heart and high in my mind that she could very well be the girl for me. We came to the top of the hill, I sighed, the Sun was going down over the city’s skyline. Everything was just perfect. I was full of love. And how stupid was I not to jump out of the bus and run after her? By god, sometimes I just cannot fathom my own lack of courage. Whenever I’m confronted with the real feeling of love, I become scared. I love the feeling, I savour the feeling, I want to bear it with me to my grave – but by all that is holy, I cannot get myself to act on it. I don’t know if I’m simply too scared. Scared that it will slip through my fingers. Scared that the love is only real from my perspective. Scared that this World doesn’t allow such things as real love. But I got the love bug. And it has a sweet bite. It’s what has made sure that my interests haven’t completely dropped. Love is the impulse for everything. Being in love is such a handy treat. It stimulates you in a way that nothing else can. You find love in everything; books, movies, trees, skies, Stars and definitely in music. Even something as obscure as SYR9 is currently making the love bug eat me up. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to act on love, or if I’m forever inclined to live in the feeling of love, never experiencing love. I don’t know the future. Maybe I would if I read some of all my sci-fi novels. But I know I feel again. And I want to feel everything.

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