Nov. 17th, 2014

demacrux: (Default)
 
 
 I write of what I do not know. I suppose that's terribly common of most that enjoy writing. It's why it sometimes requires research. I have to get what I'm saying right. Or at least, not terribly out of reality. Even if it's rather unreal in the first place. 
 
However, there are things I know I will not experience as they are the supernatural, the use of characters not quite my own. Just interpretations for amusement. But when it comes to creations entirely my own, I write often of what I know not and feel somewhat insecure about not knowing. I don't know how to deal with the requited feelings of any sort. It has always been feelings left unexpressed because previous rejection has turned me inward. Unwilling and hesitant to push forward in any sort of interest. It's a theme, I can't say I am the most proud of to be honest. . I never feel like it is serious enough for me to wonder about so much in writing.  It might mark me as even younger than I appear with such a focus. 
 
I'm sure those that have experienced it can say how serious it gets. 
 
I miss out. I don't know if I'm entirely regretful of that. I don't know how to deal with the exhilaration that comes with meeting someone that strikes your chord. I don't know about finding those that you thought would be good but aren't. That requires interest in you in the first place. I hear about it. It's all hearsay or me. Or imagination. I can always pretend but I worry. I worry that pretending is not enough. Never enough.
 
It is a concern that I reject often enough if someone has ever known me. Out of hand, out of mind. I have an education to pursue, internships to seek out, further schooling to research. Hobbies to pursue, music to obsess over.  I don't have the time or the patience to worry about it.
 
But I do. I do and it's just not something that is fun to deal with. It's not. So I write about it sometimes. I write about other unknowns but the personal unknowns of emotions. Emotions that I can only gather from the secondhand experiences. Those that I could have at least a little inkling of by now, but no. Sinking into media, distractions of all sorts, I do not care for the hearsay. And saying that it'll come someday, never comforts me in the least. If anything, it's an irritation. Like is there nothing else one could say? Just please, nothing at all. It's less of an insult. 
 
It's almost as if I would have rather never known that these things have existed in the first place. At least then I wouldn't have had to  think about it entirely too much.   Or at least, I would like to know for certain that I'd never experience these thoughts. But because there is all too much uncertainty, all I can do is wait, write, and venture out occasionally.
 
demacrux: (Default)
 I didn't want to go back.
 
At least, I never thought that I would. But here I was on a Friday night, in this hangout that had reminded my of memories that I had wanted to forget. Somehow saddened that those that I had associated with here were no longer around. Not to mention this song..this song with a bass line to marry in my eyes playing in the background.  It didn't help. Not in the least.
 
In fact, I could argue that it made it worse. It's all about coming back to something that was left behind. And here it was all too appropriate to my situation. Is it any surprise that it was currently one of my favorites.  In my head, it always escalated from a sort of dreary appeal to a ever-darker desperation by the end of the last repeat of the chorus. But perhaps, that's just how I could have interpreted. 
 
It could have been simply about an ex. It probably might be simply about that. However, for me it was never that simple.The location, the music, the memories, all rushing around in my head as I remain collected to the general public. After all, I was just here to relax for a few hours. 
 
Still, I managed to keep to myself and just make the most of the situation until fate decided to somehow work against me. Seriously? How did these things happen?
 
There they were, the old acquaintances deciding to make a return to the area the same night I do.
 
These things don't happen. This wasn't a movie. What in the world was going on?
 
It sent a chill down my spine. I actually visibly shuttered to be honest.
 
'Are you okay?'
 
Just a little chilly, I had to respond. Even if I couldn't actually explain why I was. It was pretty comfortable temperature wise. 
 
I had changed since they had last seen me. I hoped that the recognition wouldn't be there. Then I could be safe. Safe to carry on with my business and get out as soon as possible. 
 
And because this was not a movie, of course, that was not the case. I hadn't changed too drastically I suppose.
 
A smile directed my way from the worst of the lot. It was careful, cautious and the most devastating for me, as sly as ever. I had to resist letting out a visible sigh. I kind of failed at that as well.  
 
Still, I had to return a grin as well.  The worst I called him, that's about as much detail I can safely say. Let's say there had been attraction and for the most part, I had felt it was terribly one-sided on my part. And I could deal with that. It was normal for me. But the suggestion that just before he and his group had to go that it might not have been one-sided cut me to the core. Why was nothing said? If I was too shy and he was too shy, who was in control here? No one was. And I know for a fact that he wasn't too shy. 
 
At least, not if his interactions with others were any kind of sign. Perhaps they weren't. It didn't matter now, did it?
 
Moving from the seat, I go to look to see if there are any books to catch my eye. Anything was needed to take my mind about what I had just saw. What had suddenly rushed to my mind. The song had been over a few moments but it played over and over in my head. Driving any kind of worries up through the roof.
 
No pressure. Not at all.
 
This wasn't a movie, another line that should have comforted me. And yet didn't in the least. I don't even know what to make of my reliance on phrases and tunes to get through this situation. I tried to distract myself with the books once more, only to find that I was not alone.
 
The worst. I didn't really want to say a word to him to be quite honest. And I couldn't really see how could be interested in speaking to me still anyway.
 
I manage to glance over anyway and he nods quietly contented to mind his own business for the most part. I go back to browsing, not exactly expecting that reaction. It's a bit of a relief to be honest. Perhaps the no pressure thing was actually true.
 
We end up talking a little despite very apparent separation there between us. I don't particularly mind this,  it's nice catching up even if I do only want to refer to him as the worst. 
 
Trust me, he proves this by the time I leave the store. 
 
 
Those cursed sly smiles that make me want to run away. I didn't want to go back. Crawling back to him? Not my idea of a good time in the least. Not that he was ever there for me in the first place. 
 
Eventually, I make my purchases and make to leave but not before the worst striking again. He calls my name. The sound of it on his tongue kind of shaking me, shattering me. I don't really want to go into how it sounded. Too simple, too familiar. 
 
Turning to look at him once more, he approaches me quickly. 
 
'We simply must catch up some more..soon.' This he draws out as long as possible, getting way too into my personal space. And i don't shove him out. I don't.
 
I will never understand why and this irritates me to no end. 
 
With a peck on the cheek (..and admittedly lips. I could only glance coolly in return to hide what I really thought of all this) and a number in my pocket, I make my way out the store.
 
He is simply the worst.
 
And I will probably text him later.

The name

Nov. 17th, 2014 09:53 pm
demacrux: (Default)
 The name I tell you is both correct and not.
It's right because I go by it. It's wrong because it's not the name I call myself. Not always.
Not often even.
 
I am a person of many aliases.
I say this jokingly but I mean every word of it. 
The person you see and 'know' is only a hint at, an edited version of myself.
 
Guess that could be true of many people actually.
Nonetheless, the disconnect between how I read myself and how others read me grows by the day.
And to think that I allow it.
 
I allow it because it might be safer.
Because I can't consider most close enough to be worth the explanations.
I allow it  as any chance
 
Any chance of me making something of myself in this world relies on people
Reading me wrong.
And even then, what they make of me comes with limitations.
 
I can't say it's a very dramatic tale.
It's quiet, not a whole lot of outward tension or any at all.
 
Just a person with a personal view 
Much different than that which they share with certain individuals.
And even then the version is varied.
No one really gets the same me. The complete version.
Maybe similar editions though. 
 
These are just the facts of the life I've been living.
And probably will continue to do.
 
There's broadening my horizons
and sharing what may not be meant to be shared.
 
I fear, I do fear though
That one day that the person you meet will
Be so far removed from my actual self
The disassociation will get to me. 
 
And then what will come of that?
I just don't know.
 
 

November 2014

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