Bokelskere.no

The image of that life: how beautiful, how painful, to belive it could after all be possible. For so long it has hurt to much even to think. And now everything hurts so much all the time that to think makes no difference, to think even lends a kind of sweetness to the terrible pain. The life they could have had together.

Attachment, the cause of all suffering, so the Buddhist say. To cling to what you have, what you have had, the life you have known, the handful of people and places you have ever really loved, to cling and not let go. Never relenting, never accepting, becoming all the time more enmeshed, holding harder, loving and hating more.

The realisation that his adulthood, into which he was entering now so definitively, and which would last all the rest of his life, would have to be lived without his father. That he was becoming a person his father would never know.

Crying she said to him: I want you to remember me. Too painful to contemplate. Staring into the sun somehow: agony intense enough to annihilate.

All the good in him, what little there is. Trying to be loved by her. His morality. Principle of his life.

Life is perfect and everlasting until the end of the song.

Thought rises calmly to the surface of his mind: I wish I was dead. Same as everyone sometimes surely. Idea occurs, that is. Remembering something embarrassing you did years ago and abruptly you think: that's it, I'm gonna kill myself. Exept in his case, the embarrassing thing is his life. Doesn't mean he wants to really. Or even if he does, not as if he would do it. Just to think, or not even think, but to overhear the words inside his own head. Strange relief like a catch released: I wish.

She had been contained before, contained and directed, by the trappings of life. Now she no longer feels contained or directed by these forces, no longer directed by anything at all. Life has slipped free of its netting.

You can drive yourself crazy thinking about different things you could have done inn the past.

I was feeling homesick for the event while it was happening.

Cult of Aloneness: The need for autonomy at all costs, usually at the expence of long-term relationships. Often brought about by overly high expectations of others.

Now Denial: To tell oneslf that he only time worth living is the past and that the only time that may ever be interesting again is the future.

I've always had this feeling that nothing particularly importaint or exciting is going to happen to me, I've always known. That nothing will ever really be as good as imagining how good things could be.

Her life seems little and ordinary. It seems to always be Monday morning, she is always tired. Lately, she finds it hard to be enthusiastic about anything.

Life's to short. People say it all the time. It's not short; it's damn long. Especially if you don't have someone to talk to. And it makes you tired.

Now, he sees love as something not made for him, some abstract thing like the shape of something at the top of a farway hill, lovely but never to be fully grasped.

She likes knowing about other people's lives, why they made certain choices. It makes her feel she might one day be more in charge of herself, that she might live a larger life. She wants someone to show her exactly how to live, to take her dercisions from her hands and sort everything out for her in a matter of fact kind of way.

Everywhere she looks, she has the feeling people are enjoying themselves more than her.

Remembering the past only serves to make the present even more unbearable.

I can feel my childhood slipping away from me like the sand on the beach.