2005-08-01
an ode to you
There is plenty to say, but that must be saved for later as the time now has greater uses for itself.
So on the train ride up, my mind was occupied thinking of others. It deviated back to one quite often, for reasons I can explain but would rather not want to. I ended up scribbing stuff about it in a notebook, and I wanted to put it here. It's all really presumptuous, but kept in an optimistic light I like to think that it at least begins to evoke my appreciation.
Not enough people know what a good person you are- you yourself are amongst them. I have seen only good from you, so sure that's what I'm going off here. I still haven't seen your best (there is a good song about something like that, you know...), and I don't think I ever will. That should be reserved for someone really special. I am really, sincerely glad that you let me see your good. I hope you will never have to convince me or show me your/you're bad. I never want to see it, and I wouldn't believe in it anyway.
You always know what to say what I am at a loss for words, yet conversation doesn't matter. Nothing stupid really does like that with you. You are funny- but not in a n incredibly laughable way. It makes me smirk more than anything, and I like that. You are nice as if you have no other way to be. For me I feel like I have a choice- but you just seem to be what it is you are. Cruelty can minimally seep in, but only when meant (tehe?) to. I'm not calling you simple- I'm calling you nice. You find no sick joy in the complexities of lies and manipulations.
You are self-deprecating, you mope, you're emo- but you're okay. You never get lost or tangled in your own selfish sadness, and if or when you do, you don't let it keep you from making others have an enjoyable time. Your life is good in its comfortable ways.
I'll never really understand your generosity- it's been said that people casually offer or give away things in attempts to socially compensate for insecurity. I don't buy that from you- you just honestly want to share what you like- spread what makes you feel good to others.
you don't live through ambition or greed or usual motives that people have (all of which perpetually lead back to this pseudo-deep and in some sense, unhealthy immersion in their own personal life), but because living is what there is to do. Sometimes you don't want to.
You are morphing, you have started to disregard the hand that feeds- in more ways than one. You can't make up your mind but there isn't much to decide upon anyway. You look at the things that other people want and question those desires, and what is worth the pain, why the pain exists. Said pain has frustrated you but you have somewhat come to accept and tolerate it. You don't know what happens next, and in some sense don't seem to care or take responsibility to do something about it.
You try to exude a version of hopelessness that in itself holds no bearing. Because you will continue, or you really should. I don't know if you want to share yourself with the world- or if you even go for vague, cheesy statements like that- but I know that it hasn't had enough from you. In the silent doubts you feel resonating from other peoole, you have to at least maybe wonder if some truth exists in their skepticism. IT DOESN'T. I wish I could shout that to you, that you are love and love is you, but I don't really know if you need that. This is not an extended hand hand of help, because that is a bit uncalled for and disrespectable, almost elitist and I really don't mean that. I see you, I do, and you are as fine as anyone. But hell, if I am wrong, then this is the arm that can hold you and I plead for you to know that I mean it. Always.
You're on my mind. In a different way than people usually are. I dont' think about girls except my very close friends and random intruiging people, and the same goes for guys with the broaders allowment of even mere acquaintences, and in the hopeful romantic/naive fashion which admittedly fills a lot of my peoplethinking. You fit in some of these past categories, and in a different way. I really do think about you. I think of things we've done, particular moments, and instances that I stored away to recall- the elation- what I know of your life.
I get the feeling that you honestly think I am a sincerely genuine and good person. Sometimes- even perhaps at times in a victimized version of paranoia- I can sense people doubting that within my class-smart intelligence, they question my motives and incentives and that I'm really getting at when I seem awkwardly or socially off the smooth mark. They seek and slightly have a suspicion of lifes and selfish flaws that exist within me. They overlook my innocence and would scoff to themselves that I would even so openly refer to it like that- almost ironic as someone exploiting and bragging about being modest and humble. Oh, this all seems so cohereant in words, a paranoid and self-made victim, when the unspoken version seems so much more rational.
Crap, I apologize for putting this much of me in this, when I mean it ot be of you. But maybe I had to go there to explain why I care for you so much, which inevitably involves me within that very concept itself.
The pen looks cool as it writes acrosst the paper, with the light at this angle the shadow of the pen also meets the paper and writes.
You do not doubt my goodness. I'm not sure if you consider it a waste of time, or if you see right through the seeingthroughness. Thank you for not wondering is there is something more beyond that I present and share, something bad or worse. I am This, and you accept it and try to understand it and don't question it. For some, that seems to be a developing judgement in trying to discover who I am. Instead, you and I just have a good time. I try to do this by my very nature, and you just do. And things happen aroundus and inside us and never to us, because they seem not meant to.
And it allwill continue and we'll both know and these words will all be there, in a way sadly solidifying my thoughts and making a feeble and meager attempt to quantify it all in an unfair way, but I guess that's what I get for trying to pen on paper what I know and feel and think about you. I like you. I love you. Thank you.
leesah-likes at 12:07 a.m.