Monday, March 26, 2012
There's a need to know how many years it'll take for things to work out. I'd want to know, selectively, about the future. Not all the parts of it, just a couple of things. Minor stuff really. Returned back to the comfort of Nora Roberts and the Quinn brothers. Maybe it's to fortify, to reassure or something. The cousin has already started asking the uncomfortable truths and I need to get a move on. What's new? Been feeling a little out of sorts when I am with people. I think I am fundamentally a loner, because social relationships make me question too many things. It's different, a little, when it was with you. Maybe because I yearned for it for a long time and I put myself out there for you. I don't do the same for others. I like to be part of the fringes, sometimes, to listen rather than to participate. My mother and I am sure, some of my friends, think that I am a little reactive. It's kind of irritating to hear this especially when I try to go for some lively participation in my otherwise lurking sort of social patterns, and I get called reactive. Fuck. You. Would you rather I look back at you impassively and say nothing or communicate with non-committal gestures? When this happens, my internal reasoning becomes justified. Sometimes, I just don't care about people at all.
Anyways, the father is making me feel all sorts of emotional things. It's difficult to accept that he's been reduced to this. It fucking kills me every time I see him and the aunt and grandma just don't get it. I fed him. I touched him, for the first time in years. I studied his face and hands and try to see what we've got in common. I file away what I saw and I hope I can remember it. Sometimes the end seems near and sometimes, it's agonisingly drawn out.
Just not the right time. Just waiting for it. All of us.
Labels: Our time is not ours to give
