apologies, i think, are overrated. yesterday’s play proved that. i imagine one day that if people say sorry too many times it will lose its meaning. just like the word nice, the word honourable, the word honest – just like the word fine. i’m fine. funny how one word loses its meaning so easily, just by repeating it. and then some.
things change so quickly. there are many things that i, would like to say to you, but i don’t know how; funny how things can pass between strangers and some others just remain across a road nobody dares to cross. it’s a bit like clothes, really – there are some you buy and wear into the next three weeks or so, and then there are those where the only time you put them on is in the fitting room. girls should know; every girl must have at least one. not everyone is like faded jeans where you just love them more with age. some people come and some people go, in the end the ones who stay aren’t always the ones who actually matter, just like the big fish that got away. you know as well as i do that the length of time you know somebody has zero bearing on how well you know a person.
what does it mean to lose yourself in a crowd of people? to be someone, to become someone, to turn into somebody else, to forget you actually ever existed. life becomes a movie, a timeline, a history book, where there is always a Before and an After. pre-war, post-war, circa 1870, pre-secession, post-independence, post-breaking up, post-love, post-you. before you, after you, when you were here. it’s so easy to categorise love, put people into boxes, cart them away in memories as if they never existed, real people become vague outlines, first loves are forgotten. lovers become friends, and friends disappear. anyone who has ever been in love knows that pain, somewhat acute, somehow dull, somehow always there – when people you have shared your life with suddenly become people you call for a movie, a coffee, a drink, a play. people you know as letters on a screen or faces in a photograph. are you who you are? are you what you say you are, are you the things you like, the things you do, the people you see, the person you love? are you the person you love? are you his fancies, his moods, his whims, his laughter, his smile, his sorrow? are you his nemesis, are you your nemesis, are you his enemy, are you his friend, is he your friend, is he for real, are you him, or is he you? and does everyone else really not matter in the process?
are you looking for a lover, or a fan?
are you looking for a lover, or a sign?
are you looking for a lover or is it really worth the bother?
is it really worth the bother to be mine?
there are times when i wish i could talk honestly, like all those who bare their souls in places they know people will not read. to be completely honest one must write as if nobody is reading. when all this falls over my head and my life crashes down on me i know there is somebody waiting at the end of the tunnel who says, i told you so. in any case it’s always a challenge to be oblique. maybe i have said too little; or maybe i have already said too much.