One of three.

I think I’m just going to stop worrying at all about love.

My mind saw the opportunity to once again chase you, and it jumped at it right away. Seriously, what have I been doing over the last six years if this is still the way I react to you telling me you’re single? I mean, I understand part of it: you’re just my yes-girl, or I am your yes-boy, whatever it is. I will always be standing there, ready whenever you should knock on my door. But I really should just wait for the day when you come knocking. Until then it’s just dumb. It seems you’re already back with him again. Hello hurt. For you and me both.

And I’ll leave it all as it should be,
where you are you
and I stay me.

(Grizzly Bear: “The Hunt”) I really thought that this was it. This was the time when the stars and planets would align, when everything in the universe would create a path for us to walk down together. What good can thinking this way ever do? Exactly. I know I won’t learn anything from writing these things down. This entire blog is proof of that. And so is the rest of my life. But if I don’t try…

Melodramatic much.

My writing is rather fifty-fifty these days. My writing-mantra is “write the best poem in the world,” which seems to have an effect on my brain. Either I write something that’s really, really good, or I write something that is heading for the trashcan even before the first word has shown up on the paper. I guess this is what it means to take writing seriously. I write through all the less-impressive ideas to get to the things that leave a mark. No longer do I feel content with just sitting around, waiting for the inspiration. I seek it. I want it, now. If I wanted to only write whenever pure inspiration hit me, I would either write far less, or I would have to drastically change my life so as to end up in situations that produce inspiration more often. And I’m not really inclined to either of those.

My life has already seen a steep raise in inspiration-producing moments over the summer, and it keeps on keeping on. I even remember to write things down when I’m in the moment, struck by inspiration, seeing things in new ways, noticing meanings in words I hadn’t noticed. Or just whenever I’m intoxicated. I feel like it’s a waste if I get drunk and don’t find time to write whilst drunk. I’ve never been much of a drinker. I do like the fun aspects of it from time to time, but what it does for me is more the creativeness. Normally I feel like I can do pretty well with my standard-mind, but every now and then a little help is appreciated.

Sober tonight.

My only proper ex-girlfriend told me tonight that she still liked me, that she’s still hunting me. I really don’t know what good can come from this. She’s moving to Germany in a couple of weeks. I’m fond of her as well. Fine, I really like her. I will always like her. We would probably make a better couple this time around. But it really wouldn’t work out, I don’t think so.

I will mention one last girl in this post. The girl I’ve been hanging out with the last couple of months, and the one I would most likely give my love to if any. I’m sure I’ve posted about her. At least in a poem or two. She’s the one that makes me smile whenever I think of her. She’s the one whose hair-changes don’t matter to me. She’s beautiful to me no matter what color she decides to dye her hair today. She’s the only girl I’ve really felt utterly, fantastically emphatical about. I care about her. I really do. And that says a lot. That says more to me than any poem or love song.

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