Confused-Shoes

I found myself staring at the stereo. Outside, a hard rain was pouring. The world seemed so gloomy. I felt so alone.

I tried my best to systematize. Is it true that systematicity produces better results than sheer will? So in my head I tried to sort out, categorize and contextualize such abstract notions as attraction, infatuation, lust, love.

Love, for Pete’s sake. Love again?

Mandy Moore and Jonathan Foreman’s Someday We’ll Know was playing on the radio. God, why that stupid song? Not that I was on the verge of tears or I was dying inside or what. I just felt funny. In my heart, in my head, I felt a little funny. Love made me feel a little funny.

With the song ending, I tried my best to adopt that scholarly set of mind. I tried to be busy. Maybe schoolwork would free me from whatever bothers me. But another song was beginning and it was Coldplay’s In My Place. Man, I thought. This is such a gloomy morning!

I was tired from conjuring up justifications in my head. Tired from devising schemes and orchestrating the biggest upsets. I was even tired of doing a mental list of all the potential lovers that I could have. I was tired of reading J.D. Salinger and playing Blur and Radiohead. I was tired of conversations with animated people. I was tired of driving myself around the places where we used to spend our lovely afternoons. I was tired of pretending to be the ultimate fortress. I was tired of simply being me, or tI was tired of being simply me, or I was simply tired of being me.

I felt like I wanted to rush outside this big building and throw myself into the hands of fate. I wanted to make another obscenity, I wanted to put up the world’s grandest show. I wanted to be revered and worshiped like a saint, or I wanted to be stoned to death, burnt at the stake. I wanted to be unnoticed. I wanted to fade away. I wanted to kill anyone, I wanted to make lives. I wanted…I wanted badly to be loved by the woman I love.

That’s it. I wanted love.