Vulnerable.

Yesterday something got me thinking, triggered me to wonder about how strange it actually is that people are so vulnerable. I was listening to my heartbeat. One bullet, just one, could cause this beat to stop. One enormous hit on the chest could damage my heart to such an extent that it could be fatal. One accident with a needle, in my eye, could make me blind for the rest of my existence. It's a terrible thing to realize this, to realize that it's SO easy to go blind, or become lifeless. While walking on the street, listening to beautiful music vibrating out of your headphones, someone could decide to stab you. Right then and there, disturbing your perfect, innocent existence. A mad person could just kill you, when you have never done anything to that person. It's a scary thought. But it can happen. Just like anything else.

.

The ability to empathize with others can be so magical. And to not have this ability can be so confusing. If someone cries, and I care about that person, I will cry with that person. Eventhough you're not going through that same situation and even if you have never experienced feeling that way yourself, you can still feel the same way the other is feeling. And it's such a logical reaction, such an automatic reaction. When someone does not empathize, it is somehow shocking. We get angry, we go ballistic.

Today I started wondering why people actually use a 'heart-shaped symbol' when referring to 'love'. And it also got me wondering why this heart-shaped symbol refers to the organ of the heart, when this organ most definitely does not possess the same shape. Where did this connection between this organ and this word begin? Is it because a heart is what keeps us alive and we seem to find the emotion of love so important, we think we cannot live without it? Is it because of the effect love has on our hearts, it starts skipping beats and beating ten times faster the moment we see the one we love..? When you search it on the internet you will find reasons such as "The heart was thought to be the centre of emotions" or that it derives from "the shape made by swans' necks in a courting ritual, which resembles the heart shape". Who knows who's version resembles the truth and who knows if the use of the shape of a stylized heart truly has an authentic origin. I don't think any answer states clearly enough why, where, when and how. So in that case, I'll just keep using this perfectly simple but oh so meaningful heart shape when expressing my emotions, especially when expressing my love towards someone else.

The little bubbly things floating on my tea look like eyes. Alien eyes.

FREAKYYYYY'ish'ness.

Rambling off again.

I wish I could wish you well. Hope the best for you. Hope you get happy and . smile all the time . .. . and stuff. But I don't think you deserve it. And I don't deserve you. I deserve better. Yet I still wonder. You can't stop wondering when you've never talked about it with the person you're wondering wonders about. And now I'm just talking jibberish, because I can. Everything's possible, eventually. You. Know. Like. One day millions of roses could drop out of the sky and fall perfectly into your hand, in a grasping position, like you were waiting for that rose to drop right into your hand. Yet secretly you had no idea in hell such a magical thing was possible. And now you know it is. But it isn't. It never happened. Really. But. ... .. . it could. You know.. yup.

:3

I could be a romantic. I decide not to. I have the choice not to decide to. So I decide not to decide to decide to be one. I'd rather dwell in miniscular issues, that wouldn't count as issues in another country, say a Third World one. Sink into a hole, blackness drowning you in sadness. The emo stuff, you know. I decide not to do anything about it either. Because it's easier that way. Bye.

My fake reality.

I don't want to know that people die. That people fade away. I don't want to realize that people can be forgotten or that there's a possibility that someone will never be seen again. Ever. That you can't come back to me once you're gone. Gone in the sense of having died. I don't want to be mortal. I don't want to stop living, because what is there left to live for when I can't live anymore? How can life be so cruel when it's meant to be kind. I don't even know why one must let people die. And then when I do, how am I supposed to decide about what happens afterwards? Do I want to get eaten by little, disgusting, creepy crawlies? Or do I want to be shoved into an oven and burnt to ashes? How cruel is it to let people choose between the two! One must not think about these things, and yet one is forced to, unwillingly.

Where are you?

I always look for you. Everywhere I am, everywhere I go. To be able to have an overview I heighten myself to my tiptoes and look over all those people's heads. Not always do I manage to find you. Though you are easy to find when you're there. And then when I've found you, somehow I feel complete. I feel whole. My life can continue when I know that you're there to see me live it. It's sad, really. That I can live for you, when you've never lived for me. All the time I've spent with you, thinking of you, writing about you... Just like now. Here you are again, translated into words. Simple words. Yet serving a deeper meaning. You will never leave this paper, these sheets of everlasting desires.