From Anne Griswold Thing’s “Architecture: A place for women”: ‘When a woman reclaims her own animus or is aware that she is projected it onto someone outside of herself…[she will] become more complete and more creative.’
I love You.
I watch You.
I watch Your life play like a movie.
It’s black and white though. I don’t get to see the color, because I am looking in.
Looking in at the happiness, the pain, the triumphs, the lessons.
Not a part of it.
You don’t know me. You don’t notice me. In fact, You can’t see me.
I don’t really exist.
Not without You.
So, here I am, trapped in this endless freescape, wandering, but always watching.
I see You smile and I want You to smile at me.
I hear You laugh and I wish it was for me.
I should go away, disappear.
What a waste of time, pining away like this.
You are so blind, so blissful. I can never be free but You don’t care.
I like to imagine You would if You could.
I keep seeing You come towards me as if You want to tell me something.
But then You pass through me and carry on. You never seem to notice the moment when we collide.
I run ahead after each moment, but every time is the same.
I have reached a sort of epiphany.
I no longer have any hope.
You can never reach me because we never existed.
How very sad.
I look at You and I know You so well.
It’s a shame You will never know me as well as I know You.
I want everything for You.
I want the world for You.
I hope You get all that and more.
Please, for my sake and for Your sake, be wise.
After all, there is only one You.
Every time I see what you have, I’m reminded of what I don’t have.
That breaks my heart.
It’s not what I don’t have that makes me sad.
It’s the fact that in your happiness you don’t notice how unhappy I am.
But to be honest, I don’t want you to notice.
If you did I think I would die.
I couldn’t take it, living in my sadness knowing you knew.
I’d rather you were happy, blissfully.
Just be happy.
Just be happy.
That’s all that matters to me.
I can’t choose between you and I.
It’s too hard.
I will always choose you.
No matter what.
If you’re happy, even if I’m not, that’s what I live for.
It might seem selfless.
But maybe it’s actually selfish.
Maybe it’s because I am afraid to face my issues, my demons, the things that make me sad.
But I still love you.
More than you’ll ever know.
I hate that little voice.
The one that tells me I’m not enough.
The one that tells me I will never make it.
The one that tells me I don’t matter.
The one that tells me I should give up.
The one that tells me I should kill myself.
As long as I never listen…
I can overcome…
Who am I fooling?
No matter how soft.
No matter how quiet.
Will always be there.
Sometimes we’re strong.
Sometimes we’re weak.
Sometimes we fade.
Sometimes we shine.
Sometimes we love.
Sometimes we hate.
Sometimes we stall.
Sometimes we race.
Whatever it is, we are human.
Such a lovely fortune.
Tempted to believe it’s a lie.
How could it be true if this life is damned with emptiness?
Isn’t love a lie?
An elixir concocted by some scheming mind who knew making a penny off a warm, fuzzy heart is easier than coaxing candy from a baby.
That pedantic pronunciation of three little words which alone mean nothing.
I am selfish.
Love is a lie.
You are no one.
Why must it be a lie?
Let a cookie say what it wants?
You alone are enough.
Even if I do not know your face yet.
Hurry, my dear, hurry to me.
The fires of hell stir ever nearer.
Nothing but the best for the ghost that stole my heart.
I am insane.
Love need not be, it just is.
You are everyone.
Caution to the wind.
There is no turning back.
Ease this steed of wonder onward.
We are plain.
We are love.
It is in those moments that we find ourselves woven in this fabric of time.
We sleep fitfully knowing we must wake, conscious of the other world we still have no claim over.
What if this world we sleep within is merely the tangible but we have yet to discover that?
What if the world we think our own, where we have individual identities…
What if that were the illusion?
The fire is so hot breath is stolen away.
This is not passion.
The burden of the situation is burned in the mind, leaving a black footprint.
The responsibility to do no harm is stronger than any fantasy of comfort.
Please knock next time.
This war could so easily be won if mind and body and soul would concede one to another.
How dare you?
To believe in such fairy tales that wear the sheep’s clothing also known as “quick fix”.
This is no addiction.
The pain glows like nails under the skin. The blood trickles, clear, not shockingly red. The only solution, makes sense, how else does no one see?
Nothing. Darkness. They let me fall. They can do no more. Their eyes are blind. Their lying eyes.
Free. Free. So nearly free.
You, don’t even try.
This state that is so satisfying. This being that is so freeing. Repetition never tasted so good.
Don’t let the past rule the future. Wild and free. The motto she lives by.
The prison reaches only extend as far as they are allowed. Courage rests in the hands of those who seize it.
Swimming against the current, destined for a brighter future. Fighting through the waves of popular opinion, for the future. Their future.
Can’t have peace without war.
She opens her eyes, finds the horizon, follows the sunset, howls at the moon.
It’s what we do. It’s what she does. With the deadly calm comes the rage, the inferno, the passion to forge ahead.
It burns alive inside of each and every soul.
We are but demons tortured by humanity.