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Does your memory play tricks on you?
Does it do that thing where one day, every touch,
every glance, every moment is so crystal clear you can feel it, like it’s happening right now?
Then it does the other thing, where you struggle to remember how it felt to be in their arms, to gaze at their face, to touch their lips so gently with yours. I’m mad at myself, not you. I’m mad for always being nice, always apologising for things I didn’t do, for getting attached, for making you my life, depending on you, wasting my time on you, thinking about you, following you, changing for you, forgiving you, wishing for you, dreaming of you, and most of all for not hating which I know I should, but can’t.
Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads,at least that’s where I imagine it, there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own little private library.
helena x
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I wanna get lost from my life sometimes, sit on the side and watch the world go by,
I wanna get lost and I don’t know why.
Throw a bit of crazy and more of strange, you'll eventually get me. A little complicated, but then again, who isn't? I'm a light sleeper and a heavy dreamer.
Adores too little things from reality, and far too much from fantasy.
Has extremely high hopes for the future, yet is unsure about the present.
Spends a little too much time thinking and surfing the internet. Sees music to my ears.
Btw, my name is helena and i'm 16 yrs old. that is all.
Does your memory play tricks on you?
Does it do that thing where one day, every touch,
every glance, every moment is so crystal clear you can feel it, like it’s happening right now?
Then it does the other thing, where you struggle to remember how it felt to be in their arms, to gaze at their face, to touch their lips so gently with yours. I’m mad at myself, not you. I’m mad for always being nice, always apologising for things I didn’t do, for getting attached, for making you my life, depending on you, wasting my time on you, thinking about you, following you, changing for you, forgiving you, wishing for you, dreaming of you, and most of all for not hating which I know I should, but can’t.
Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads,at least that’s where I imagine it, there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own little private library.
helena x
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