Leonard Cohen: Book of Longing I can't make the hills
The system is shot
I'm living on pills
For which I thank G-d
I followed the course
From chaos to art
Desire the horse
Depression the cart
I'm leaving. Inside your favorite book I have left an Ipod with a mix of songs that remind me of you. All your drama and mystery. Your story-like, or cinematic sense about Love. I based it only on songs, musicians and albums I know you're connected to. Why is it that sometimes you meet someone when it is the
right time for you but not the right time for them? And then it becomes
the wrong time for both of you. You may then have to find reasons to be
disillusioned, piece by piece, in small bites, when you are really
being amazed, every time you see them, by leaps and bounds. I also included a few other playlists, these are my maps of you.
She asked: "Remember your last mistake?". I told her all about it. When I went to sleep, she went into action. She deleted all her pictures and emails. Packed and mailed any old letters I may have stored away. Anything she thought might remind me of her is Gone. She decided to aid my melancholic memory.
"Who does your heart belong to? " was the firing shot of her inquisition. I had a weakness for her eyes so I told her the truth, as it was then. "It doesn't belong to anyone in particular. It belongs, unwillingly and without notice, to the girl who sings into my voice mail, the girl with the cute wink when she's being cheeky, the devastating beauty who reads Cohen poems, the most disloyal girl I've ever met, and... " She stopped me. "Don't worry, I can hear the emptiness between them." And that's when I knew she had delineated a broken heart out of my little list.
Dear xxx, Your letter was too short. You asked: "How goes your obsession?" My answer: Which one? : I refuse to give up a love which I believe is good. I believe it's good because it's not linear, just an obsession; but calm, rich, and many-angled.[ Kathy Acker ]
My hotel room felt like an accident. Hours of being there culminated in an discharge of several letters that were long overdue. But yours never reached you. Don't worry, you only missed a few delineated romances, complaints about culture and miniature compliments to make you smile.
"A tale without love is like beef without mustard--insipid" [Anatole France]
What I miss the most are your accounts of saturnalia dreams. Maybe even your capricious chasm and your delicate expectations of me. I am bound to ignore the expiration date on our friendship. Eventually. The anticipation could almost be called delight. Am I your subject or your object? I squint to tell the difference.
: I have to erase you out of my life so I can keep on living. no matter how passionate no matter how perfect no matter how deep love, it fades and there's nothing. I won't stand for it. [ Kathy Acker ]
"Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away" [Dorothy Parker]
I felt sick at first but I was actually waking up from numbness. It
was your existence, it made my guts hurt ( and I need that, I suppose.
) I’ll stop painting a new coat on the rancor in my heart when you stop
lying your heart out. Only then will we recall our past and sing it
like a karaoke song. I’m your most important footnote, that song you
keep listening to over and over. And the ugly irony is that we miss our
insanity, it was a pure blissful tension. This is how I came to realize
that I need you, in some shape or form.
I tried to wave the white flag; did you see it through
the fog of our cold war? It was sabotage from your side and I was
crushed. Despite of it, I still lingered. I learned to erase all the
romantic campaigns I was going to launch against you and wondered why you kept me around, like a rare pet dragon you refused to slay.
[ Falling Slowly: Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová - Live ]
You don’t know the latitudes or the amount of inspiration you give
me. Is it inspiration or a dose of hope? Don’t mind me; I’m just a
media magnet with fantastic anxiety. I’m wallpaper in room that houses
your posture. By the time I was staring at your silence, which I took to mean “I’m
not an option”, I was dreaming of a thousand LED displays that
described my feelings for you.
The terms of this isolation are unclear without a mistress or a muse to report to.
I’m close to the atmosphere of your memories, within dancing distance away from severe longing and other engineered heartaches.
We’ll be closer as soon as you decipher my quarantine.
My heart is not a pacifist, but I sure try.
I only miss you in my sleep. I only miss you when my pride lets my heart speak.
but all I wanna do is miss you tonight.
all I wanna do is miss you tonight.
- I don’t remember the source
We are all improved by the glow of memory.
- Neil Gaiman
Somewhere between cute and precious, I could not stop thinking about you. Somewhere between precious and adorable, I decided I would walk in fire for you. Somewhere between adorable and gorgeous, nudity became our enemy. Somewhere between gorgeous and beautiful, I became static. Somewhere between beautiful and devastating, I lost you.
"I've had a revelation about you", she said. I became worried. There are only a few things she could transparently know about me. She doesn’t know her power over me and it is my job to never let her know. It is time for an extreme exercise in discipline, so that she doesn't pick up the faint smell of a broken heart.
[ Romantic Desires As Inconveniences ]
I. “That’s the nature of women; not to love when we love them, and to love when we love them not.” Miguel Cervantes
III. "What you tell me about in the nights.
That is not love. That is only passion and lust. When you love you wish
to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve." Ernest Hemingway
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