reading

Maybe it doesn’t get better than this
And maybe people its just, supposed to settle
There may not be a forever but just a moment
The worst and best part of writing your own words is you can read them afterwards. I mean for a moment, like before… but I fear I’ve been looking for forever. That’s not pretty. I fear that if this is as good as it gets then I have not much to look forward.
I’ve recently been told that sad makes great art yet a crappy life. True. The one problem is there is not even good art. No beauty left… a moment can be great if it rushes…if it makes happenings.
I used to believe in fairy tales and true endings, I guess I still do. I believe in the idea of romance and love stories, in the breaking heart and shaky lips. I believe in the pain. Still, that’s the whole problem, it is an idea alone. And ideas are hardly ever something more that thoughts and electricity.
My heart is clenched. Stolen. The fire that would light it and make it warm has proceeded to slowly fade into a shadow of what it once was. I believe in the heart as a muscle, a flesh coloured piece of nerves.
By saying it doesn’t get better than this then the two sides clearly show; one reminds you of the greatness of the moment and the other one of the emptiness in it.
When I was a kid I used to wonder whose thoughts were these inside my head, was it just me? why did I think what I did? then I realized they were mine and started wondering if they were good or bad or what were they... i used to feel like I needed to be allowed to think. Anything. I'd forgotten that. I needed to remember it.

I’ve found a character to relate to in a book I can’t even finish. I’ve been looking for something written with such passion and I found it. Silly it is to think so, but great, almost classic like authors have never been my strength. Her name is Sarah and it has a fashionable way of reminding me why I’d loved that name for a while. Is hard not to see through the other characters, the aching husband, the jealous lover, the unspoken of disease.
Out of the bad habit of underlining great lines I have this:

“It was like perfect peace again until I put the receiver down, when immediately that devil in my bran prompted the thought that the waste of those three hours meant nothing at all to her.
I have never understood why people who can swallow the enormous improbability of a personal God boggle at a personal Devil. I have known so intimately the way that demon works in my imagination…”

And a question

“If I eliminate everything, how will I exist?... What happens if you drop all the things that make you I?”