| and those things, those lines and phrases and all that was mixed in them...are all that mattered to me. even now, i can find nothing. i really don't care about anything in the here and now. if i care about a person, it is because i knew them then, because some line of some play reminds me of them...a costume...a particular inflection...a moment in time. when people try to change, move out of their moments, i am lost...more often than not, i leave them for their ghosts. it's strange to think that all i want is in a few note books, and sad to think that there is a possibility that there never will be anything or anyone else. i realise that these lines mean nothing to most, but still, they are my life. 'We punish ourselves in hopes of...i don't know...something.' '...Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!' -Tennyson- |