These are but vain attempts to express, by one who wears her heart on her sleeve. Words, much like love, can be ever elusive... ever frustrating... like trying to paint a million stories on a single canvass. If you will read, please do not ask. Just feel. Or at least try to. The meaning is, whatever you have felt to be there, or the lack thereof :)

ever elusively yours...

3:41 AM 5/11/2007

hey there. i guess we remain to be elusive from each other. i am acting like i'm complaining just like the usual but of course, nothing at all is usual in writing to a yet unrevealed you. so how come i am doing this now?

I guess I just plain miss writing to someone. it has been too long since i last attempted to put my thoughts and feelings onto paper and sent it. and those last attempts have been mostly painful because of the reasons and the consequences. i don't think i can and will ever accept silence as an answer no matter how much it kills me... yet ironically, that's what i have found myself guilty of these last few weeks. i have been refraining from doing any serious writing at all. the idea was there all right, it actually hounded me but i never made the time to actually act on it. and so i just felt drained; ironically empty by refusing to spill out my guts like the way i used to. i must have really changed in a lot of ways in spite of remaining to be deceptively simple. some things, as i am continually being made to believe, cannot really be altered. like the fact that i am a creature of words and ideas and that it is important for my survival to express them in any way that I can. i think it is why i feel very much like i'm lacking in oxygen lately. i haven't given in to the voice of my profound self in a while. in trying so hard to focus my attention on the seemingly more important things like work and school and the many personal problems of people dear to me, i have denied my self its own nourishment. I guess too that I just plain miss you, yet again....

It is very funny to a point really in spite of the irony - that I refuse to wait and yet here I am, hoping that one day you really will come; that i am a realist and yet, i am indulging myself in this delusion; that i am often most sensible but i am wallowing in this form of craziness... well, so much for survival.

i do not want to sound defensive anymore by explaining and expounding my every statement. i just want to be myself and "hear" myself out this way. it actually doesn't matter if there is really you. come to think about it, if you indeed exist, you are actually but an extension of myself, an alter-ego of sorts. ever heard what they say that love is just the joy of finding yourself in another person? i believe in that. how can you possibly love someone who doesn't share and sometimes, cannot even respect the things that are important to you? the challenge of opposition maybe attractive but how long can such a game last? definitely not for a lifetime.

this just again emphasized to me how relative the meaning of love is. funny that its very mystery lies in the fact that it really isn't mysterious at all since it is defined by the things that are important to us for various reasons- time, effort, habit, intensity, novelty... indeed life is but one overwhelming irony! a lot like you really. i feel you are out there and also but biding your time but, how can that be? i might as well be just hallucinating, although the cup of coffee that i have with me right now is not even strong enough to induce one.

i cannot run from love can I? but is love even walking after me?

when questions are asked, the answer is always either a "yes" or a "no". for me however, its neither. its just you.

<4:23>
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