Thursday, February 21, 2013

some dreamers.

I've begun writing almost every day for two months, and every day for two months I've stopped and never hit "publish." I think I go through periods where there's a lack of creativity driving me forward, and the only thing I do about it is wait until something major strikes.

But when I look back on the last year of blog entries, I think what struck me the most were the words from others that inevitably led to inspiration. I think it's why I've been so schizophrenic in my reading lately--because I'm trying to find something inspiring, but so much of it is inspiring that I feel dwarfed in my ability to produce anything of worth.

But whether it's Didion or Plath or Sedaris or Ephron, the important thing is that I keep reading and keep writing, and not let the insecurities of the universe weigh me down. I will have more time to do this in just a few days, and so I look forward to continuing this journey.

In the meantime, I'll return to re-reading Blue Nights and dreaming of the golden dream.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

settling, part two.

We sat through the credits, and when the lights came up in the small theater, we exited and sat in the parking lot for a moment or two longer. Before we knew it, hours had passed. Our conversation had eclipsed the length of the movie, and all we could talk about was the pain of what we’d been entangled in: love.

We drove back to my place, and along the way he settled upon a song—this song. “This is what I’m thinking of,” he said. It was random, out-of-the-blue, but so appropriate for the tragedy we’d just witness on screen.

Here was Blue Valentine—a film that attached inevitable heartbreak along with every romantic story—and here he was: a boy who would tell me he loved me, only to push me away every other week. Perhaps heartbreak would be inevitable for us, but I didn’t want to believe it was the canopy above every relationship.

Yet he always told me he believed in me, that I’d “make it,” that I’d soar. He said he didn’t want to hold me back, but I never saw him as a disappointment—not at the time, anyways.

“I won’t believe in love until I have proof that everyone doesn’t end up miserable,” he had said before turning off the car in the lot outside my building.

I told him I wished he believed me—that I loved him, and I wouldn’t turn my back on him. But when he dropped me off at the end of the night, I didn’t hug him goodbye.