Time passes by, where are we?

I read a few entries over on my old livejournal.
Crossroads of my past.
Touching, exciting, mostly helping understanding my former self.

Now I'm in the middle of nothing. I wait to work, everyone started and I wait and wait and wait until next Wednesday. I feel left out. I feel unimportant. Unnecessary.

My head full of plans how to start the new season, the specific new play.
Recipes of apple pies as welcome in my head, telephone lists on the to do list and the ever growing impatient feeling of finally getting my hands on the textbook to dive deep into Kafka's thoughts and transfer them onto stage, onto our time.
Why isn't it Wednesday already?

Meanwhile I am occupied with visits to authorities such as health insurance, employment agency - all of which make no sense and are a waste of time.

Time I could use to read (Erich Fromm! Art of Loving!), to prepare a rehearsing schedule, to write (here, my beauty blog, my two paper diaries), to daydream, to sleep, to breathe the North Sea air...

In other news, all this idiocy of bureaucracy has kept me very much from pondering my nonexistent love life or people I could potentially love again (or never stopped loving for that matter).
It made me realise that I am not in love.
I haven't been in a long time. B4 hurt me too much. He probably broke something in me.
More than B1 did.
I am better off on my own.
I do love. A lot.
But I haven't seen butterflies in too long and I wonder if they ever come back, if spring ever comes back.
Now, it's just all about lust.
I see a certain person. A dancer. A director. An actor. People I work with on a daily basis and all I can think of is how hot they are. Or aren't. But there is nothing more.

As for the first real love, the probably only one for my heart - all this holding hands, leg on leg, hugging and tears - wasn't this the alcohol AND the lust, the unknown, the mixture of old feelings and everlasting curiosity of sexual desire?
I am scared that if/when/if/when/if/if/if he comes to visit me we end up in bed and my heart will be broken after we took the step we have never taken. Most definitely it will rip open old wounds afresh, where's the use in that?
He does not know what he wants and actually, do I?
Do I want this, again?
Does he want this at all?
Curiosity belongs to teenagers, we're grown up now and it will not lead anywhere but to pain.
That is not the way it should be.

This time, reason has to win over heart.

With more time on my hands spending for nothing important at all, I have no time to think and rethink these things over and over and over again.

I suppose that is good.

Nudity is a relief

It is in your worst, most embarrassing, most exposing moments, when you truely realise how much others love you. It will catch you of guard and no matter how very bad you feel, the warmth is overwhelming by all means.

To me, it was a lesson I longed for exactly ten years ago and yes, I do regret how we did not work, when we now realise that we could have if we only had been a little braver. If we hadn't been kids.
It might haunt me forever.
I will be one of those women young girls read about in cheesy novels and cry their eyes out over the romantic tragedy. For it truely is a tragedy.

I do love to suffer a little, romantically. I can not say I'm not enjoying it to a certain extend, or am touched.

The most romantic moments happened when I was 18.
I did live in a tragic, romantic novel and suffered. And could not appreciate it. Who can, I wonder? In the moment it happens?

It is such a relief to see reciprocal feelings after years and years of pondering.
It is a relief.

Love... and all the difficulties it comes with...

It's not even midnight yet, and I'm sobbing my eyes out.
I'm so very pissed - it's embarrassing for everyone who's witnessed.
It's TEN years ago and I love him, smell his scent and am remembered of when I, we were eighteen.
I'm just as vulnerable.

Today, I met my first love. Probably my only love, my true love.

Why haven't we been able to tell each other how we felt ten years ago? Why does this have to end in a (Russian) tragedy?

Why am I the one telling him he needs time for himself when I could be the cure, without any conflicts or obligations?

Why does life/ love need to be so very difficult, when the solution is so extremely easy?

I dream of home

Bat For Lashes - Daniel (HD)

Connecting trees

Ever since I read about his totem, a fox, I wondered what was mine.
If we were as close in the symbolic world as I thought we were in spirit, souls connected, intertwined.

I was always sure I belonged in the forest as well. Maybe a wild cat. A lynx comes very close. A test said I were a fox myself. I don't think so.
According to the Native American's Birth Totem I am a wolf.

All of a sudden it makes sense. All of a sudden, I belong in the forest, as I thought I do. I am as loyal in life as I will be beyond, as I am with him, now and forever. Like a wolf.
Like a wolf I am strong and would kill for him, for him to be healthy and protected. I would lick his wounds and warm him.

It all falls together. My dreams of thick Swedish forests, the wet, dark, mossy forest soil I can smell writing this. Us roaming about the woods, enjoying freedom.

As this will never be in real life, it will after. I know he will be watching, will be close, sly and cunning, showing me the way through the darkness.

---

Next year I will be going to Sweden.
Other people are going to India to find themselves and I might do that somewhere in the future. It's on the list.
But in a year, there won't be anything more important than to visit the meadows and forests where he grew up, to feel him close again. To pay my respects.
To clearly show my enduring love, that will never cease.

Jag älskar dig, K. För alltid.
Jag kommer att lära mig svenska igen.
Du är min inspiration. En räv, jag älskar.