~~look right through me....

[reenka]

i don't usually get morbid. i get melancholy, and wistful, and nostalgic, but not morbid, mostly. so it's in that not-really-morbid spirit that i am listening to this really kind of maudlin song, and feeling listless and trying to articulate my very strange thought... just like the song, which seems more real than me right now, because it's really taking over my head.

``i find it kinda funny, i find it kinda sad
the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had."

so if i died tomorrow, it just occurred to me, just, the kind of things people would say... if someone asked them to say something about me...
-- she was sweet. articulate. insane. quiet. intense. very strange. poetic. a good writer. she listened. brilliant? you got the sense she could do more than she did. nice. passionate. she had possibilities. it would've been nice to know her better.

-- but we never really knew her.
-- but she didn't really seem quite there, quite willing to connect with other people.

i think if you wanted to say something about me, it would be best to play some piano music-- some kind of cross and interweaving between chopin & tori & enya & just-- well a number of things, perhaps, and have a short movie play on a sheet stretched between two trees, once dusk had fallen. and everywhere, you'd have this eerie purple light, with flashes of silver and gold. and there's be the sound of water, and girls laughing. and on the screen, there'd be these disjointed images, of dried flowers, sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains, trees in october, dry, grassy fields tinged with a bronze, orangish-colored glow, cherry blossoms, tulips, library shelves, lots and lots of pencils, a girl with dark hair bent over a sheet of paper, a girl spread-eagled on the grass, smiling, and beautiful girls in strange, multi-colored dresses, running through strange castles, their expressions indescribable.
    a dark haired girl, reading, and smiling, and seeming utterly lost someplace you can't see.

in terms of wanting to change the world, i don't know anymore. but i realize i want people to know me. and nothing i've done so far, and nothing i've said, and nothing i've drawn--

and no one i've talked to... it doesn't seem to change this picture i have. what if i was near death, and someone had to say something right, something purely borne of knowledge of me, to bring me back. i still think no one could say it.

sometimes i take a leap of faith, and just one sentence, one response, makes me think-- a connection has been made, and i can die tomorrow, and leave a part of me behind. maybe that's true. when you're in love, you think these things. instead of exchange of rings, you exchange pieces of your soul. if i believed in souls, which i don't.
i'm not sure-- you can't get people to talk straight from the soul very often. in fact, i've never seen it happen, except in art, in poetry, in stories. the soul doesn't speak very rationally i don't think-- this reminds me of the story by thamiris, where god was being misunderstood, because he could only speak in metaphor and symbol, and lucifer was being frustrated.

if i had a goal, a thing i wanted to do before i died, it would be to touch the glowing things inside people, to validate my own existence by communicating with the beauty i see around me, to kind of dance on the edges of a shared dream. sometimes an image gets stuck in my mind, just something i see-- a painting of pan playing the pipes by a tree in moonlight, a ballerina dancing nearby, or the way red maples colored the ground fuzzy crimson in the yard near my house every year.

i want someone to know me enough to know that to say something about me, you should say nothing at all. paint some leaves, the rain falling, a bird's shadow reflecting in the rippling water. play a song under moonlight-- dance naked in a huge, sunlit room, and be very very happy.

we share a lot of dreams without even knowing. and i'm no sweeter than the bitter april rain. and i live in the hope i am felt rather than understood.
~~
i felt this ficlet and so i understood.

Comments

[tara]

At the risk of trivialising it, this entry is glorious. The composition and strength of your words is enviable.

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

eeee, thankee~:)
i'm er... never really trying to be `deep' or anything. if i had a epitaph-type-thing, i'd steal eleveninches' and go with "deep as your mom" :D

was just babbling. am happy it meant something to anyone in any way shape or form~:)plus, compliments always welcome :D

~reena

[ishuca.livejournal.com]

i think that it is perhaps the highest compliment in the world that my friends, my closest friends, when asked to describe me (because they have been) end up standing there with their mouths hanging open, searching for words.

the same thing happens to me when i am asked the same thing, or asked why i am friends with them. how do you characterize a ball of glowing light, the feeling of damp cherry blossoms kissing your cheek, that smile that is so bright you go blind for a moment? how do you make them into understandable words, phrases that most people would recognize as true description? 'she loves to read,' 'he has an amazing imagination.'

you are right, such descriptions trivialize the true value of people- even though their intent is a sort of glorification. perhaps that is why i find funerals so sad; people feel they must bind their sorrow up in words.

and although i don't know you well, i feel like you have touched me. your posts, your writing- they all communicate something about you, though if i were pressed to put it to words i would fail miserably. so, for me at least, you most certainly are more felt than understood.

just as you felt my piece. if you want more words, i wrote a response to your post in my journal. but i rather feel like you don't need to.

~i

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

*smiles* i think it's pretty ...ironic, for lack of a better word, that i'd started off writing this feeling kind of sorry for myself, because i was -upset- that probably no one could come up with a good verbal representation of me ^^;

but it's not so much that i had a flash of light & a revelation... it's more like-- i guess i realized i was being kind of arrogant, thinking i know, from the reverse. ie, just because no one -tells- me, it's easy to decide they don't -know-.

mostly i'm just bitter no one tells me who i am so i have to figure it out myself~:)
or maybe it's just lonely taking everything on faith all the time.
plus i'm obsessed with putting everything into words anyway :>

that's not really how i -understand- things, but... it's how i express things, most often. (as one can tell, seeing as how wordy i am, heh). i was thinking (bitter, again) that most probably the words people would use to describe me would be shallow, thus implying they only know me shallowly. 'course, that's not really their fault.
but it was always my (contradictory) belief, that no matter what it seems like, and even though they don't express it, and in fact i can convince myself easily 90% of everyone who ever knew me has by now forgotten my existence-- i still believe we have a connection, that anyone who's ever... bothered to see, has in fact seen the truth. because after all, it's not like i have a monopoly on truth (especially about myself), and also... it's the ineffable things that are most real, anyway, and the words are just there to make things more comfortable.

so that's why i'm somewhat ok with not speaking to people for like, months and years. although that doesn't mean i don't angst and decide that i'm wrong, every so often, and that really, i'm like this cardboard cut-out, etcetc~:)

wow, that was angsty. *hides in shame*
yes that is the little-known (well, here-abouts, anyway) truth about me. i'm really not all that..... um... perky, really ^^;;

though i sort of am. am confused. do know i like fic, though, that's for certain....

~reena