Decided to take a break from homework and venture into these three books I’ve been dying to read. Saw these at a bookstore in SanFran and finally got my hands on them MUAHAHA who’s a winner? I AM!!! -On my quest to becoming a good housewife. Two books about kitchen science and a book about the periodic table wooohoo
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+Often times I wonder what it would feel like to die, perish young in such a way to remind the ones around me that immortality is a myth and that no one really ever lives forever even if they were to be pressed into letters in the black and blues of memory colors. And I wonder who would miss me and who would not. I wonder who would remember me, and how they would remember me, or if it would be easier for everyone to simply forget my existence. I’d like to think that somewhere in between all the selfish things I did or the hurtful things I’ve said when I was angry there would be some sliver of a good memory for people to hang onto, a rare time when I gathered enough courage to show the tiniest bits of love because sometimes I tell people I love them when I really don’t, and other times I tell people I don’t love them when I actually do, so much; and I suppose that it might be the embarrassment of revealing too much of my vulnerability that keeps me from laying it all out on the table instead of quietly embalming their presences in my life in amber bits and pieces of prose.. or maybe it’s the overwhelming fear of being passed off as not good enough that makes me all the more secluded and privatized, as I have always been. Because when the vastness of alone creeps up on you, when it takes you over, when you withdraw within yourself because you feel so small and insignificant, sometimes you can’t help but wonder at what life would be like once you are gone, permanently- or, perhaps, if you had never graced its fleeting seasons, ever. Would it be changed?- but I’m not sure I really want to know; the scariest bit of it all is seeing that even in your absence there are no gaping holes left in the hearts of the people who tore abysses and grand canyons in yours; so no, I’m not sure I want to know. But I wonder. And I wonder if anyone knows just how fiercely I love and just how deeply I hurt, how empty I feel when the nothingness swallows me whole and devours me, skin and bone and heart and mind and soul. And most of all, at times like these I wonder what would become of my words when I am gone- will they dig them up from the archives, dusty and young and splintered with varying shades of crooked imperfection, and lay them to pages and voices and the grief of a world choking on the sheer enormity of silence? or will they fade, the way a warm summer’s evening does to a frigid winter’s chill, disappearing altogether in the folds of an perpetual autumn that will never give way to spring. I wonder if the things I meant to say would finally seep through their cold exteriors to rest beneath the pools in the burn of their gazes, or if these waters are truly too shallow for me to sink into; but I don’t think it really matters because I’ve drowned myself countless times already anyways, in books and broken words and saltwater and a few clandestine drinks that make my head spin and my fragility come undone, in hard kisses in backseats of cars that never meant anything and people who always leave in the end. I am tired and unraveling, to the ends of all my fingers and all my toes.. and I wonder a lot but it scares me to death to know just how much of a something I mean, or how much of a nothing I don’t.
