When we think of addicts, we think of those people who are hooked on drugs, alcohol, and partying. Addicts are almost always looked down upon for their actions and their problems. But have we ever stopped to think that addiction is not always a bad thing, not always harmful? Those who have addictions were at one point broken, looking for something to numb the pain or fill the void. Addictions can come in all kinds of things: drugs, exercise, people. But have you ever thought that maybe writing could be mine? I am addicted to writing, to escape this painful life. I am obsessed with finding a way out, to avoid my feelings and pain. Instead, I turn to my writing to get me through the tough times. So when you hear the word "addiction," don't always assume it is something bad. It may actually be a lifesaver.
I need a solid answer from you. You know, like a list or something. A list of reasons why you don't want to be with me. A list of reasons why you think we're not made for each other. A list of reasons why you think it'll be a waste of time for us to go on dinner dates.
Give me a freaking list, woman. And end this silence once and for all. It's killing me. It's like I'm half way through a story and the rest of the pages have been torn away. I still know the ending, though - the last page is still there, intact in front of my eyes. I read it and I know we're not going to die in each others' arms as I would want it to happen. I know it.
I just want to hear you say it. I just want to know why. I want to know what you think about this whole mess. Or if you think about it at all.
So yeah, give me a list.
I remember afternoons on the cliffs, taking long drags off cigarettes, whispering into the wind as it whipped our hair across our cheeks. I remember these small, tragically beautiful moments, our desperate attempts at romanticizing our own sadness. How else could we have passed the time and still survived? We were a snapshot in time, stuck in our sadness in the past. We've grown since then to be so much more than that, but there's something strangely special about those moments. Something about it that's burned into my memory, the smell of smoke mixing with the salty sea air. Kelp rotting away on the shore below us, like a sick metaphor for what we were doing to ourselves. The wet tips of my canvas shoes from carelessly stepping through puddles, and the familiar feeling of cold feet.
Hoje à noite a Terra deve girar. Hoje à noite as estrelas hão de cintilar, em seu brilho longínquo. Hoje à noite, quem sabe, a Lua faça uma visita, se preparando para o grande evento do próximo domingo. Neste dia, para algumas formas conscientes de sua existência, ela entrará na frente de um deus perpétuo para eles. A Lua se colocará entre a casa dessas formas e sua fonte inesgotável de energia, de vida...
Mas, hoje à noite, quem sabe, a Lua faça uma visita, mas sem nem olhar para essas formas. Ela estará Nova, olhando para o grande deus brilhante e explosivo, inalcançável.
I feel myself falling in love with you. Melting into a sweet familiarity. You're the only person that I've ever been able to talk to this way. The only one I could ever talk to for five hours at a time multiple nights out of the week and not run out of things to say. You've told me your stories, with a kind of timidness in your voice I wouldn't have expected. You let the details slip out as you add polite disclaimers, hoping I won't think any less of you for your mistakes. I find myself falling further especially in those moments that make you fear a sudden halt. I find myself dreaming of your arms wrapped around me, and remembering the way my face feels pressed into your neck. I catch myself missing you at all hours of the day. And that's how I know that I love you.