The same nightmare again and again
Gasping for air and sanity. Pillows and sheets and blankets and you. I will drown in this bed. They say it’s just like going to sleep.
The meaining of "I carry you with me"
Right next to your favourite park bench. That´s where I´ll put my roots down. That´s where I´ll be growing, growing. Carve your name and a heart into my bark. Please.
the fairy tale we love to believe
The sound of a heart breaking isn’t poetic. It is hollow. It is tragic. It calls for rituals – the denial, the shock, the anger, the disappointment, culminating in hopelessness. It’s like death without the sleeping part.
the forbidden remorse
I am not there. Somewhere in the future, suffering for something that hasn't happened yet. I am not there, in a place where all your worries manifest. I am not there. Somewhere in the past, reliving your old mistakes and regrets. I am not there, in a place where memories resurrect. I am here. Right here. And I daydream your absence away.
For sleepless nights I´ve got you and you´ve got me.
the unbreakable habit
“Do you ever get that feeling where you don’t want to talk to anybody? You don’t want to smile and you don’t want to fake being happy but at the same time you don’t know exactly what’s wrong either, there isn’t a way to explain it to someone who doesn’t already understand. If you could want anything in the world it would be to be alone. People have stopped being comforting and being alone never was. At least when you’re alone no one constantly asks you what’s wrong and there isn’t anyone who won’t take “I don’t know” for an answer. you feel the way you do just because. you hope the feeling will pass soon and that you will be able to be yourself again, but until then all you can do is wait.”
This feeling, it´s called: hating everyone for not being the one you miss.
The centipede city
House by house you built a whole city on this record. You built something godlike and timeless. Stilt by stilt you let those songs turn my dream into Altantis. This city might sink but I can hear the streets, the white fences, a church and a home. I can see us feeding doves in Venice. We go underground, we go down like Venice.
the turbo speed thing
Dear me, this is not about the prince marrying the peasant woman. This is real life. This is still getting worth and royal myself.
The theory of relativity
This isn't torture. Torture happens in small, dark rooms in countries with names you struggle to spell. This is just mildly unpleasant. This isn't heroism. Heroism happens in churches that are also schools, performed by teachers with no names and no place to stay. This is just a good deed for the day. This isn't loss. Loss happens on fields filled with poppies, in hospitals buzzing with flies, in distant deserts and late at night when there's no good reason for the phone to ring. This is just longing. This isn't important. Important happens on bended knees and is breathed on last breaths with hands clutched tight, hearts tighter. This is just a distraction.
The hindsight
I want to describe every moment of the last four years, but that would probably be a mistake. If you, my reader, are like everybody else then you´ll already know what a trainstation looks like, what it sounds and smells like, and if I tell you about it, then it would be just another way of saying that I´m in love with acting like I can make my future happen now.
So instead of telling you the whole story it´s probably better to let you know that my life also fits in 4 minutes and 52 seconds. This is my song, my heartbreak: "Cocorosie - Werewolf"
People don´t want to hear it, don´t they? This is how I feel, every day, and people don´t want to know that. They want to know that I´m feeling what Tom Jones makes you feel. But I feel like this, and they won´t play what I feel on the radio, because people that are sad don´t fit in. It´s funny, because they think it´s this boy that stops me fitting in. But he´s not so bad. Hard work, but... it´s the way he makes me feel that stops me fitting in. You get the weight of everything wrong. You have to guess all the time wether things are heavy or light, especially the things inside you, and you get it wrong, and it puts people off. I´m tired of this.
I don´t say anything these days. I may not know the weight of many situations, but I could feel the weight of reality, so I kept it to myself. You know that things aren´t going well for you when you can´t even tell people the simpliest fact about your life, just because they´ll persume you´re asking them to feel sorry for you. I suppose this is why you´re feeling so far away from everyone, in the end; anything you can think of to tell them just ends up making them feel terrible.
Writing this feels like discovering a new door in your own house.
So instead of telling you the whole story it´s probably better to let you know that my life also fits in 4 minutes and 52 seconds. This is my song, my heartbreak: "Cocorosie - Werewolf"
People don´t want to hear it, don´t they? This is how I feel, every day, and people don´t want to know that. They want to know that I´m feeling what Tom Jones makes you feel. But I feel like this, and they won´t play what I feel on the radio, because people that are sad don´t fit in. It´s funny, because they think it´s this boy that stops me fitting in. But he´s not so bad. Hard work, but... it´s the way he makes me feel that stops me fitting in. You get the weight of everything wrong. You have to guess all the time wether things are heavy or light, especially the things inside you, and you get it wrong, and it puts people off. I´m tired of this.
I don´t say anything these days. I may not know the weight of many situations, but I could feel the weight of reality, so I kept it to myself. You know that things aren´t going well for you when you can´t even tell people the simpliest fact about your life, just because they´ll persume you´re asking them to feel sorry for you. I suppose this is why you´re feeling so far away from everyone, in the end; anything you can think of to tell them just ends up making them feel terrible.
Writing this feels like discovering a new door in your own house.
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