You really have to loathe or love the enormous capability of your body to feel various things – Remember the times when your brain just relentlessly makes you search for an appropriate word for how you feel, when it makes you scowl at your insufficient vocabulary or keeps you wondering what sensations you are going through; those moments that appall you and appease you at the very next second. It’s simply outstanding. Sometimes you are sinking in happiness and you have no idea why, sometimes you are this great entertainer and you realize that you never meant to socialize let alone entertain anyone, sometimes you just want the whole world to fuck off, sometimes you want to hide in a little corner of your room and just make out with solitude , sometimes you are too sad and hence you go creative, sometimes you have had the best day ever and yet all you want to do is sit and cry, sometimes you want to get high, sometimes you want to rise up in the morning and breathe in the fresh cool air, touch dew drops and witness sunrise, sometimes you want to talk and just go on talking, sometimes you want to embrace silence and there are those times when you grow obsessed ; with a book, with a band, with a song, with a movie, with coffee, with cheese, with a blog, with a website, with an actor, with a poem and suddenly out of nowhere…
With a person.
With a god damned person!
How do I stop thinking about him? Like is that even possible? Can I just stop myself and pretend nothing is there and breathe as normally as I can? Can I stop talking about him? I am sure my diary is bored. My friends are bored. And it’s high time that even I get bored! So can all this just not happen anymore?
“Of course it’s possible!” says the sensible and smart voice in my head.
“Why wouldn’t it be possible?”
Okay, if you say so. I guess then the question isn’t how to stop thinking about him. Question is do I want to stop thinking about him?
“Say yes! Say yes!” – says the sensible me.
Yes. Yes. Even if I say this a dozen times it wouldn’t make it any true. It’s not true at all.
The insensible me turn to the sensible voice in my head and ask – Why can’t you admit what we are really going through? What is it that you fear?
And soon my brain starts to wander among his memories;
His smile, his laugh, his peculiar sense of humor, his voice, his touch, his hair, his eyes and the fact that he has no idea somewhere someone is this obsessed with him.
“Fuck. Dude, what have you got yourselves into?”
The sensible me finally breaks the silence by answering the question with another question.
Not cool. Not cool.
What have I got myself into? How the fuck would I know? Like I can control what I feel! Do I ask my brain to flash his image in my head whenever I hear a song we both love? Do I ask my brain to nag my own self wondering if it’s right to talk to him or just say hi or just send him a message and wait for his reply like I have nothing else to do? Come on! It’s not deliberate.
You don’t have to say it miss sensible. I know it’s miserable.You have best intentions in your heart. You want to grab my hand and keep me from falling.
That’s awfully kind of you. Have I not mentioned that before? That really is. I hope you are able to execute this plan of yours. I do want you to. I know how much you care about me. And your plan is flawless! Because what’s the point? I sit here and make these little love notes, dream with my eyes wide open, imagine weird possibilities, smile for things that are unlikely to happen, blush over a stupid name, be happy just over the prospect of meeting someone and what does that someone do?
All the things he normally does. While I throw away hours thinking about him, whom does he think about? While I spend my nights dreaming about him, whom does he dream about? While I talk to him wondering what bliss that is, what does he wonder about?
Insecurity and boldness hits me at the same time. The sensible me who is so sensible and so sure about how only stupidity can embrace me pleads me to throw this entire obsession away. It’s leading nowhere she says. You will end up hurting yourself she says. Trust me she says. You will know when it is meant to be she says.
There is such convincing confidence in her voice. In front of her the bold I, to her horror, starts to doubt her own self. She is standing there with one of those not-so-desirable dazed look on her face. She opens her mouth and closes it again. She tries to speak up and nothing comes out of her. Not so bold after all, is she?
“B-but…” she stammers and the word just hangs there in the air. Floating and waiting.
Floating and waiting.
Floating and waiting…