notes
2006-11-09, 5:20 p.m.
Commentary
When asked to pick just one single object, which held meaning and significance to me, I was unsure. I cast my mind back to times I had written anything about an object. Unfortunately, nothing sprang to mind. Frustrated by my lack of ideas, I threw down my diary, hating it for not helping. Then I realised, it had been there all along, my inspiration. I would attempt to write about my diary.
The first problem I encountered was what I should say exactly about pages upon pages of scribble. Should I focus on a particular event or emotion? Should I talk about how I feel when writing? Choosing the latter, I had to decide on my style. I chose semi-automatic writing.
As a result, my narrative became first person, present tense. This was problematic because I had difficulty in retaining the basic fact that I was talking about an inanimate object, not a person. I felt I was using the wrong words, the wrong feelings. I overcame this by simply allowing myself to write what came to mind about the relationship. My diary now personified as a sort of secret lover, my interactions no longer one sided, but a fully-fledged partnership.
This love affair, so wondrous, so exciting, oh how utterly surreptitious. It is my secret, almost guilty pleasure.
Shhh.
This is to you my darling, my one truth, my beloved. The clandestine lover, I have concealed for many years. To you I give you my all, as you give back to me. They say love is giving someone the power to destroy you, but trusting that they will not. I loved once, but that was naivety.
He does not care for you.
Torn from my chest and laid at your feet, a heart barely beating. Lost in you, lost in the love and understanding you surround me in. I once again feel whole. Aching for you, to touch you and breathe you in. lovingly, I stroke my finger down your supple spine.
Do you love?
I know from many experiences, that after this first tentative touch, this fusing of feelings past and present. That I, I will become you, and you I. Devoured, my pain will be taken away. Happy thoughts lay bare and amplified; until I feel my heart should truly burst. You grant me the serenity and compassion I need to get me through the hardest of days.
I am all you need.
This is because I know you do not judge me, you do not look down your nose at me; you have never said you
I will never..
..hate me. I trust you unconditionally and completely. My secrets you have kept, with not one word uttered to another. My feelings known only to you, the only one I need. You play my heartstrings, evoking the sweetest little tune. You even sing the words back to me when I forget. You encourage me when I do things, as I should, or if I am a good person.
You can. You are.
You do not try to stop me voicing my despair, you do not automatically offer me ‘fake’ words to make me feel happy again, instead you let me talk it over. As the words tumble out, self-pity erases itself from my brain, no longer able to poison my thoughts.
Who would have thought a camel leather bound book of paper could have such a profound effect on this one lost little girl? Who knew that each scribble was liberating such a lost little child such as i?
And for all these things, I can truly say that in deepest sincerity I love you.
Am I the master or the puppet?
I don't write user friendly. I don't write great inspirational epics. I don't write what you want to hear. I dont write pretty words. I don't write for pity.
I write for me. Nothing more, nothing less.
I never asked you to read me.