I arrived here with enormous expectations about how much I'm going to write, work, create and read.
Despite this noble and naive intention, I spent the first three days sitting in a silent room and staring at the wall.
I wondered about the moment when I have lost the connection with myself. When I let things happen, certain things to hurt me, and I did nothing to stop them. No self-defence, no attack on the enemy, just let it do whatever it could. Like I deserved it. Something like a double punishment.
Maybe writing would help. So here it is.
There are some things I've done during my stay here: I did not smoke, drink alcohol or ate more than I wanted to. Just the opposite, ate a little having my appetite lost. I feel like I want to cleanse my body and my mind from all the junk let to build up inside me in London. On the first day, I recognised traces of feelings of pleasure just by wearing white coloured clothes. I played with the thought for some time, that how nice it would be to have everything white in my future dream apartment. No other colour would be necessary.
Today, I finally cried. It just happened, there was a tiny trigger but nothing relevant. I cried for all those feelings that poured out of me, the watergate cracked at some point, however it was very well built and the time and place were perfect for it. It felt good to cry. For myself, to cleanse and to let it out. I love myself for these feelings.
Interestingly, I am now surrounded by real, nature caused flooding. It's like in Wuthering Heights, the nature provides the setting of the stage of my life, this never ending drama.
That moment keeps coming back to me, when we are fighting again for some bullshit and my very last power I sacrifice without any bad intention or pride or fear left to come to you on my knees while you're laying on the bed and ask "Why can't you feel me?".
I wish I knew where is the point, where we should give up trying because there is no more life left, or or shall we continue in the name of true love?
I don't know how would I be, if we have never met.
I felt something about someone, and it came completely naturally. I don't know if I should feel bad about myself, but in a while this was the first noteworthy feeling I discovered in myself. It happened spontaneously, mutually and innocently. It was nice to detect that at least I am not fully lesbian yet, I still have sexual desire towards the opposite gender. I still desire a kiss, a touch on my body and imagining it makes my skin burn. Your touch.
So why I don't feel the same about you? Where is the sparkle we used to have? Did we become so used to each other?
