Sometimes strange things that are not explained.
Me example (it's amazing), I have not said but lately I've lived at the same time rupture and early history. At the same time, for real. It's crazy.
Already, it goes against all logic and common sense. I decided to do nothing until 2012, and bam, I discover the sex of the afternoon.
I decided not to give me direct couple, just to know me, meet me, do all these crazy things we do when we are single, and I almost never do, or so little, and bim!, there's details that are not misleading, there's a guy dwells in me.
No comment a bit.
So all this euphoria, the discovery of another good delusions, life, love, cell block in the heart, new dishes, laughter, mischief, has embroiled in spite of myself and inevitably to absence, silence, nostalgia, regrets, bitterness, sadness and emptiness.
From full vacuum.
A beginning, an end.
same time.
At first it was constantly present, the feelings were completely intertwined, as saying that it was a mess in the head / body / heart, and then it came in waves. Marine and sentimental low tides, from laughter to tears of joy and be blissful in panties dancing like a Motorola ad and then cry at nothing, looking out the window like a TV movie on Sunday on TF1.
We do as we can, eh.
I take pictures of the stuff, micro-bursts out of tragedy, c is too difficult to understand love you, and then the sadness too, ah the sadness but really there is something profoundly marginal and disturbing in this emotional mess: allow himself to live these moments in simultaneity - and even after Wave, allow himself the constant paradox of the heart. For real, not like we told his girlfriend that has just been dumped two days before when the guy told him about living together (that is current, it did not happen to me) that the heart is changing and unfathomable , you need to feel the ovaries solid things that we do not read magazines, and seen too much around and in general is not highly recommended for health. Mental, at least. This is not my flesh cry starvation.
This constant tension could be seen as something romantic and romantic. Except in truth is to live in the guts with a feeling of always being elsewhere. Legs straight, and eyes behind. Or eyes to the opposite hand that is stretched. Complicated, the complete dislocation of what was thought, of our values. Then believe in a brighter future when we bury yet another corpse in his closet.
Once, we tried to find meaning in that it is always necessary that my closet doors are closed. Now, Freud aside, I know what they hide. H & M and the old stories.
This is also the irony and the stupidity of things in life: there is always the shadow of an ex somewhere. Finally, for me.
We scrub and the former takes a big E, as it is the former, who calls the former with whom one dines again, the ex who does forget, Ex clueless found to be still around in his life ... When one is angry, he is even a capital letter x "your EX. Is that while we are not aware that one day it may be that most famous, and this blonde fringed disappear from the equation as dry. As if it never existed, finally.
It's weird anyway, it's as if there was always the shadow of an ex. A wobbly balance to Duras, where to hold it must constantly be three. You + Me + Look behind you.
And when I think of this ex who prowled and returning from time to time in our conversations shameful, it has totally disappeared from the time the story ended (I'm made plated) and I met someone else (I'm creamy cottage ). I have in place a new ex to obscure the picture, I would say not all new, all beautiful it's indecent, but it is still fresh, still warm even. The ball in the soup, the threat in the equation.
Those who have never experienced this problem Ex, I would not say, hats off, except that I did not know how to change so quickly in mindset and delirium and how do you not want all the time to send an MMS with a picture of a lousy book which had been spoken, those ugly shoes you got almost bought that is a lady in the subway, this song, etc, etc..
Oh, I better understood: it is to avoid and control these urges, there is that generally takes time between two stories.
To not feel so violently by the force of the presence of the other offers early point of comparison, this vivid impression of having lost a friend.
No idiot and take the time.
Meet a new one, lose another, it's a little caricature of my worst moments of the primary or college in terms of friendships. I doubt the maturity of my business.
But then what? Close the door? But live? Say no thank you to the small-breakfast in bed, love, always, to be developed, with the freshness of life (hollywood chewing gum)?
As I said my cousin as a philosophical and societal credo:
"Esto no es Hollywood. "
I decided not to give me direct couple, just to know me, meet me, do all these crazy things we do when we are single, and I almost never do, or so little, and bim!, there's details that are not misleading, there's a guy dwells in me.
No comment a bit.
So all this euphoria, the discovery of another good delusions, life, love, cell block in the heart, new dishes, laughter, mischief, has embroiled in spite of myself and inevitably to absence, silence, nostalgia, regrets, bitterness, sadness and emptiness.
From full vacuum.
A beginning, an end.
same time.
At first it was constantly present, the feelings were completely intertwined, as saying that it was a mess in the head / body / heart, and then it came in waves. Marine and sentimental low tides, from laughter to tears of joy and be blissful in panties dancing like a Motorola ad and then cry at nothing, looking out the window like a TV movie on Sunday on TF1.
We do as we can, eh.
I take pictures of the stuff, micro-bursts out of tragedy, c is too difficult to understand love you, and then the sadness too, ah the sadness but really there is something profoundly marginal and disturbing in this emotional mess: allow himself to live these moments in simultaneity - and even after Wave, allow himself the constant paradox of the heart. For real, not like we told his girlfriend that has just been dumped two days before when the guy told him about living together (that is current, it did not happen to me) that the heart is changing and unfathomable , you need to feel the ovaries solid things that we do not read magazines, and seen too much around and in general is not highly recommended for health. Mental, at least. This is not my flesh cry starvation.
This constant tension could be seen as something romantic and romantic. Except in truth is to live in the guts with a feeling of always being elsewhere. Legs straight, and eyes behind. Or eyes to the opposite hand that is stretched. Complicated, the complete dislocation of what was thought, of our values. Then believe in a brighter future when we bury yet another corpse in his closet.
Once, we tried to find meaning in that it is always necessary that my closet doors are closed. Now, Freud aside, I know what they hide. H & M and the old stories.
This is also the irony and the stupidity of things in life: there is always the shadow of an ex somewhere. Finally, for me.
We scrub and the former takes a big E, as it is the former, who calls the former with whom one dines again, the ex who does forget, Ex clueless found to be still around in his life ... When one is angry, he is even a capital letter x "your EX. Is that while we are not aware that one day it may be that most famous, and this blonde fringed disappear from the equation as dry. As if it never existed, finally.
It's weird anyway, it's as if there was always the shadow of an ex. A wobbly balance to Duras, where to hold it must constantly be three. You + Me + Look behind you.
And when I think of this ex who prowled and returning from time to time in our conversations shameful, it has totally disappeared from the time the story ended (I'm made plated) and I met someone else (I'm creamy cottage ). I have in place a new ex to obscure the picture, I would say not all new, all beautiful it's indecent, but it is still fresh, still warm even. The ball in the soup, the threat in the equation.
Those who have never experienced this problem Ex, I would not say, hats off, except that I did not know how to change so quickly in mindset and delirium and how do you not want all the time to send an MMS with a picture of a lousy book which had been spoken, those ugly shoes you got almost bought that is a lady in the subway, this song, etc, etc..
Oh, I better understood: it is to avoid and control these urges, there is that generally takes time between two stories.
To not feel so violently by the force of the presence of the other offers early point of comparison, this vivid impression of having lost a friend.
No idiot and take the time.
Meet a new one, lose another, it's a little caricature of my worst moments of the primary or college in terms of friendships. I doubt the maturity of my business.
But then what? Close the door? But live? Say no thank you to the small-breakfast in bed, love, always, to be developed, with the freshness of life (hollywood chewing gum)?
As I said my cousin as a philosophical and societal credo:
"Esto no es Hollywood. "
El Guincho 10 is much longer and more powerful than I thought.
Yet the plan was simple: after a chase telephone with HSBC, my account blocked, finished my studies, my man finally left, there were only one hope: Paris in August . I spent enough time, that is to say two weeks to see what everyone knows but few admit: people in Paris in August are ugly. 
And I say no. 
Already, there are almost as tourists. They are not beautiful, often large, and looks bad. Then there are the nerds of work. They pale, no friends, no conversation, that the job ahead and of the complaint to the soul. Then there are the poor. Those who could not leave long, really from those who are ill and infants who do not know the joy of having a second home in Corsica, the Basque country. Too bad for them. And pity for me because I am them. So I tried to change positions to become a nerd of work still to Paris in August because the job and blah, frankly it almost walk but after a while he had seen things in the face : poor articles I write, I might as well write them beside a pool in a dream location, Gender Les Baux de Provence. For example.
Bingo.
Like what, in life, I do not know whether to look ahead, but at least be well imagined that another life is possible elsewhere.
If having dragged through the bays rotten in Paris in August taught me physics aoûtiens disadvantage, the second half of August, outlines a lesson less superficial and more difficult to grasp. Understand me: two weeks ago, so, I promised myself some four months of forced abstinence (what took me to type in Catholicism, who knows, I was really bad. To each his post-break ...), of gray days in Paris to eat the same packet of spaghetti for a week, with only hope to understand the promise of my love story undoubtedly passionate, altogether ridiculous. Frankly, there's better as a holiday.
How I got here, I do not know.
Finally, if a little, but who cares for details. What matters are the train tickets. And do not be missed. Coming without really knowing why. Yield to the pact, why not, that eventually unlimited. There's always a why not us takes anywhere ... And here I am at a wedding in the squatter Haute-Gironde (I even know the existence of such a region), surrounded by vineyards of Bordeaux to get drunk, dance like old rock and finally landed in the house of your dreams, a little.
I disappeared in a place where the iPhone does not pick up, do not serve, and I feel he has spent a thousand years in ten days. I am constantly surrounded by people, and yet I've never felt as much with myself. That's funny: I'm finally in a situation beyond my own understanding. My brain read more. I have nothing to think about really, since I have followed in my plans or anything, nor my promises, or my ideas.
Melancholy of my break, I seek. In the morning, when I hear the crickets and I see the Alpilles of sight, trying to tie my stomach, thinking the worst, the bitter, trying to unleash the fears, but there is nothing to there is: I swallow my tea quiet before going to float in water ... My break has become a concept that finally tells me one thing: it's amazing what the human heart is concrete. It's over, the heartache so 19th century. One day you think lose everything, you think morfler you think die, then the days pass, and quickly, and then you look at yourself from afar. The body that you seemed to fade before yours. The sense of uniqueness and ownership of the other is disillusioned.
It is done more for me. Already. I do not care who it is made. Then.
values to which I clung do not resound. The story is emptied of its meaning.
So, I ask myself the question of honesty with myself, and the question of lucidity. I do not know how to explain it more clearly: I do not understand. It goes well, is doubtful. I thought before I wanted to spend my ten years at least with a guy, and now he is not in the current landscape, and yet the future never seemed so interesting, bright. It's cliche, delirium
my break me free, yes, and it is especially illogical when it was not so desired. I do not feel hindered. I thought I was good in this story. And here I see, I think I had it all wrong, that it was not so cool, so strong and all that. I think my brain has trouble doing his job, I do not see things properly, with clarity. But anyway. I'm not going whip either.
They say women often varies. To warn men. I find it especially between chicks that we should repeat it, with himself and that we should threaten to prevent, so we calculated how much it is scary: how it varies. At which point it is difficult to stick to a fixed idea.
I healed so easily.
So here's how emotional convalescence urban decay, I found myself in the summer kiffer sloping. In the South Giono, fantasy and unlikely, with that sense of giving a hand to myself and to get acquainted. Without knowing where I go. Adoring do not know - or will - tomorrow. It's weird happiness.
Still.
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