Writing this mainly as a kind of therapy. Its the beginning of a longer novel length thing I'm working. It seems kinda like teenage whining when i read it back, but i'm just wondering if its actually of interest to other people. the thing im writing's in sections based on different songs. this is on 'all along the watchtower', primarily the first line, as will be obvious There must be some kinda way out of here. It can’t go on forever, this same life, this same feeling. Something’s gotta give, I’ll meet someone new, discover a new passion, or maybe even time will just change it all. But there must be some kinda way out of here. I lay there, in that same lounge I always had, same mattress, head on the same pillow, I was feeling different to what I had before. Before I had been blissfully happy, in a dream. Now I was in a dream, but not one I wanted to be in. For she wasn’t mine anymore. Before, not long ago, she was going to be mine forever, we’d both agreed it. Now I realised the only thing that was going to be mine forever is my pain. Well, and my happiness too, but I didn’t realise that at the time. You never do, do you? Why I was there I still don’t know. People thought I was crazy going to stay with her while I was still dying inside because of her. Death isn’t always the end. Your spirit can die over and over, but if you don’t it’ll come back to you in the end. People thought I was crazy, and I was. But not for the reasons they were thinking of. It wasn’t because I didn’t know enough. No, I knew too much. Too much about what I need/needed in life. All I need is love. Becomes cheesy the more times you hear it, but it doesn’t mean it becomes less true. All I need is a girl who will hug me forever. Sounds like a big thing but somehow a lot of people seem to find it. I didn’t feel like I was ever going to. I mean it did just feel like too big a thing. She’d given me her heart but I’d wanted her soul. Too much, too much too soon. It was something to learn from, although I knew I wouldn’t. You always think she’s going to love you forever. Or at least I do. I needed to find a way out of there, that particular pain. I couldn’t at the time of course, so I found a way out of that room. At 3 am it held too many memories, too many kisses, too many secrets revealed, too much happiness lost. So I crept out the back door, trying not to wake the dog, in case he barked waking her dad, in case he saw how much of a wreck I had become, in case she found out. To begin with I had shown her that I hurt. Not how much though. And not anymore. Not quite that selfish. Not selfish I suppose, more just slow at realising how other people feel. It hurts me, hurting people. Especially her. Why do you often seem to end up hurting the people you would most want to heal the words of? Anyhow, the dog slept through the night. Oh to be a dog. Out the back door I went, down the path to the trampoline. Damn it was cold. But at least out there my mind could breathe, instead of being choked by loss and hopelessness. Not that I stopped thinking about her, I just stopped thinking about me as well. It’s great when you can do that. A girl can kill your spirit, but for that short time, you forget yourself. And thinking of just her, you feel that love all over again. Painless and dreaming, free. That’s how I feel when I look at the stars too, like I was then. Stars make people talk about the loveliest things. But I was alone that night. I wondered how many degrees my view of the constellations had shifted from the previous night when I’d been at home. Home is a place where I learned to belong. But I belonged nowhere. I thought I belonged in her arms, but after a seconds thought I knew that was silliness. That was one of those funny times. It’s funny sometimes that you know your pain is pointless and impermanent, but knowing that doesn’t stop it. What’s not funny is how much it hurts.
Fantastic - thats the best big load of rambling crap I have ever seen. The only better writer of rambling crap that I have ever seen was Martin Amis. He far outstrips your potential to write overblown pedestrian drivel. Still theres hope as you are at least the second finest rambling crap writer which is a big achievement as you first had to beat Virginia Wolf and Geoffrey Archer. Congrats ! You are on the way to becoming even more tiresome than Martin Aimless - I mean amis
BTW the F.Scott.Fitzgerald Boredom memorial may find your work suitable. Fitzgerald after all bored the entire USA with the book called The Great Gatsby, so much so that they had to make it into a film. It is the film most people are thinking of when they reference that work, as they havent a clue how boring the book is. the fitzgerald memorial would see it as a fitting tribute to him
