i wish i could take it back. the parts of me that’s been consumed by people who were too careless to even think for my wellbeing. i look inside me now and i feel incompetent to work for anything other than chaos. i am an empty vessel. i am in drought. i cant identify what it is that i want but i do know its never anything that resembles healthy. after pain and betrayal, i can only like things that could hurt me.
There is no finality to love. Nothing is ever lost by loving, the body will be worn out, the memories will fade, the eyes will go blind, but the mere affection of loving someone is eternal, because if you truly love someone, you are opening your soul, you are inviting the universe to reside in you.
Just recently, I learned to stop myself from being "too available." It's a toxic habit of mine to be always there - thinking that maybe if Im always around then somehow they'll eventually see the value of having me, and therefore will want me.
And that maybe has been my downfall every. single. time.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Where Silence Reigns: Selected Prose (1875-1926), tr. by G. Craig Houston (1978)
One of the many things that hurt is when the person with whom you were so open with has weird conversations with you and it is clear enough that even when you are side-by-side with them, your emotions are conspicuously distant but still you tell yourself that things might revive but they might as well. It's like a bond that was once the most important and cherished by you is severed day by day and the worst thing is you are helpless and can't do anything about it.
Do you have someone like that?
P.S.- I do.
Résilience : Faire les cents pas dans toutes les directions À quelques mètres de la perdition Dans l'impasse de la curiosité À l'esplanade des limites C'est signer l'accord tacite Entre point final et éternité La bienveillance de la tension Ce huit-clos porte ouverte en toute saison Besoin de ne rien faire Pour cavaler le Bic sur la page Bien au-delà des images Comme si c'était déjà fait Comme la rubrique nécrologique Les pleurs d'un nouveau-né Tout ce qu'il reste à faire C'est méditer, sentir le carnage Voir s'éloigner les visages Clément Dugast (nocto)
"You are the only constant memory I have. I don’t remember much. I don't remember anything before you. I remember you being there. Everywhere. Even when you weren’t. Always in my head, at the back of my mind. You were in front of my eyes when you weren’t. Just you and me, coexisting. You can snap my heart in two, crush my bones beneath your feet and I’d still make a home for you out of my broken parts."
-words to write in a love letter /3/
Before I could leave, I had to play a show. My father tried to talk me out of it. I told him I am not just going to leave the ensemble in the lurch when they have to play tomorrow. He understood. I stood on stage with my bass, on the grand patio, and I played some funk music. No one paid us much attention that afternoon. From the stage, I could see it all. Drunk revelers in polos and salmon shorts. Students flitting about from class to class. My father looking like a sour piece of fish. A glimpse of platinum blonde hair in the far away. Watching from behind a pillar. Blink. She’d gone. Afterwards, the head of the jazz school came down to me and asked me how I was. I told him I’d just gotten out of the hospital. He said he knew and he had so much respect for me. He asked if I was staying for next week. I told him, no, I had to go home. He looked disappointed. ‘Oh, alright.’ he said. I waved to the other folks in the band. I packed my bass up. We left that night.