Hey there. I saw your eyes yesterday. You’re disappointed. Sorry. I might be… out. I’m actually out. I’m always off. I’m always out. I push back my chair. I hide my hands in my pockets. I lay my head up against the wall. I deaf myself out and off with music. I don’t wanna listen anymore. I just don’t wanna be here. I keep complaining all the time. Always blaming someone, something. Always wondering, about me, about the others, about everything. I live in a world that isn’t. I have to make up my own to smile. See the smile on my lips when I walk. I’m not happy. I’m just imagining, putting myself in a life that isn’t mine, pretending. Deceiving. That’s how I feel good. Because the truth is that I don’t wanna listen anymore. I don’t wanna sit there, waiting. I don’t wanna go there, dumbing myself down. I don’t wanna hear anything except the music and my thoughts. I’ve got so many things to say. Nobody to listen to them. I’ve got candidates, it appears, nobody with the required qualifications. Words are faint deceptions. They make you believe the world is understandable. It’s not. We’re not. It’s not. And I’m not. I’m drifting away, actually. And nobody’s here to reach out for me. I’m just drifting away. Well, more exactly, people are here. They just don’t reach out. I don’t want to bother them. Useless. Painful. I’ve got so many things to say.
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Call it ‘Drifting’, titles mean so much more when there’s a reference in the story… How are you dumbing yourself down?
You write like a poet. I hung on to every word.
Freeroma:
Thank you for your thoughts and your answer. It’s always some sort of comfort to see answers, to see that somebody listened, or read. Thank you for that. The title is a reference to the story. It’s a way of showing the emptyness inside of me, but also a way of showing that giving names to things is irrelevant: they won’t change anything, the world just doesn’t care how you name it. It’s gonna be, no matter what.
I don’t wanna dumb myself down, but I’m getting at the end of my studies, the end is near. And I realize I don’t really want that. I don’t really want what I struggled for. I just don’t. This will not be where I belong. It won’t.
Darkwillow,
Thank you, you’re a light in my day. I just love poetry. i’ve already noticed poets and good writers share the same kind of relationship with words as mine. Even though I’m not smug enough to compare myself with real poets, like Auden for instance. I’m French, we’ve got some really good poets too. I wish you could read “Et la mer et l’amour”. That’s a jewel. It can’t be translated in any language. Translation is a lie, it is a deception. Just like words are. But I love words as much as I neglect them. I don’t like translation. Words are innocent. Translation is a lie.
Sorry, I’m drifting away on a conversation about poetry, translation, and everything. That’s not the point. Sorry. Hope this doesn’t disappoint you. Good day to you.
You’re too deep for me, I always disliked dissecting a piece and finding the meaning behind it, (probably because I was never good at it). You know there’s nothing wrong with changing your mind about what to do (reference to “what I struggled for”) and going in a different direction entirely, It’s not like we are born with a manual giving us explicit instructions, (oh how simpler life would be, though we would still rebel against those) you can always try something different.
I have noticed when reading translated works that there is definitely something to be desired, if you read what’s written you can tell that at times the meaning is off, alas I have no ear for languages… perhaps another lifetime
Sorry Freeroma. Dissecting things and finding the meaning behind it is quite the only thing I am good at. Can’t give you something else. You’d be disappointed as well, ’cause it would be crap.
It’s not easy for me to change my mind. i’ve just got one other option and I need to have more information. I’m troubled nowadays. I’m out. Gotta go.
Thanks for your thoughts. Good luck.