I'm In Love With A Dying Man.

journaling

Yeah right, he fucking loves me.

teeny tiny

Unrequited love

I feel you around me. You’re everywhere and I can’t get you out of my mind. I love how red your face gets all the time. I love it. The only thing I admire most in this world. I was out with my friends, one of them was all red in the face because of the cold weather but the first thought that came to my mind was exactly you, with a red face. It’s so unique to me.

I don’t know if this is love. I don’t think so. I’ve never even talked to you.

You stare at me. You continuously look at me. But I don’t know why. You don’t talk to me. You don’t dare make the first move. You observe me from afar.

And I think: “What if he’s only curious about me? What if he’s only looking absentmindedly?…”

But I know too well that none of that is true. He isn’t curious.

But I don’t know how to define this.

I attempted making the first move. But he turned it down immediately.

And the next day. I see him again. I had left my glasses in my class, I was having a terrible headache and I just wanted to go meet my friend. So I go downstairs and walk towards my friend’s class. He comes close to me, I stare quickly at him and then I avert my sight to the other side, avoiding him at all costs.

I’m talking to my friend, and she tells me: “He was looking at you!”

I bewildered look at her.

I need help. He is making me go out of my mind. Can’t God help me with this. Or remove him from my life to stop tormenting me, or just make him do something that makes me at least have a talk with him, so I know what his intentions are.

I can’t live like this.

He makes me anxious. Conscious of myself. Before I get out of class, I fix my hair and my makeup. And while going to my friends, I always look around for him. Even if i’m blind. I find him somehow.

Emily Brontë, from "Wuthering Heights," originally published in 1847

the kind of softness that comes with bare legs in cotton sheets and the breeze in your window humming a low nighttime summer song

Hallelujah

Is there truly a religion?

I always question myself about my religion.

What do I believe in? At first I thought I was catholic but in reality my relatives practiced the orthodox religion and pushed me to do the same. Then my grandpa believed in the muslim theories and my father too. My mother claimed to be an orthodox. As time passed by, she realised something very strange; all religions believe in one thing: God. And it is true.

My family’s culture in fact is pagan. My hometown’s population was and still is based in paganism. We are patriotic and we believe in our town. We believe that there’s a God but we don’t practice religions. Perhaps, we never had a religion. Conquests influenced our population and culture, imposing a new emphasis of social differences and new words on our language. Our language was and still is un religious. It’s hard to believe I know, but that’s how it is. In our language the only thing we had was “God”.

That’s why I don’t have a faith. Or perhaps, my only faith is my consciousness.

Was it all a way to fool people’s mind from finding out the truth of Earth’s origins and history?

Or was it all true?

I just know that I don’t believe in any religion. I believe in God and myself.

Do I respect other religions and faiths or beliefs? Of course I do. Who am I to neglect their existence? I shall respect but not only, I ought to study them because their historical behaviors amaze our provenience. We are human beings that without religions’ existence we wouldn’t know what we are.

Is there more to know about our existence? Of course there is.

Do they want us to know about them? Of course not. You’d be a fool to believe otherwise.

And why, when I listen to Jeff Buckley’s song, I feel deeply touched? I am uncertain.

Is art somehow connected to religion?

Or is God connected to art?

It’s completely complicated. How can a mere person come and claim to know how to respond to these questions? Are you that much of a fool to think that we are allowed to ask of this thematics?

Nonetheless, I will continue praying at difficult times.

Lando is setting up his own little soap opera here isn’t he?

He says he’s best friends with Carlos

But Max says he’s best friends with Lando

Now Daniel, Max’s other best friend, seems to be claiming Lando as his partner in crime

Oscar is like, but he’s MY teammate

Meanwhile Lewis is like anyone hurts him, l’ll be having words

Fernando is sat there thinking, ah my little chaos prodigy, you make me proud

Excuse le rouge.

Red.

All I see is red.

There’s blood everywhere. I should be terrified, but I’m not. It’s not strange to me. This blood means so much to me. It shows how much he cares for me.

They envied me. Provoked me.

I warned them, nicely. They didn’t listen to me. And I smirked.

He loves me. I love him.

That blood shows his devotion to me. And that, arouses me. Excites me.

I don’t want flowers. Neither chocolates.

He gives me what I need.

Protection, devotion, obsession, possession and his body with his heart.

He knows me so well.

I want to give him children. He knows. He grins and pounds harder, deeper.

Now that we’ve come this far, I don’t know how to explain to you the connection we have. The truth is, he makes love to me. Our bodies are united. He knows my body so well. He gives me what I need.

Oh my devoted man. My dream man.

Touch me. Look at me, I’m dripping, creaming, making a mess.

Please.

Je t’aime et je te déteste.

With love, your woman K.