there is nothing left to say

[threeplusfire]

Just. Stop.

The world inside me keeps me apart. I would give a lot to know just how it is people see me, what they experience from the other side. Because I've realized so much of what I do just doesn't translate.

Like knowing someone for years and not truly knowing. Understanding proves so elusive.

How well can you see me? How well do you know who and what I am? Not just the trivia that makes up pop quizzes, or how long I've had these boots on, or what movie makes me cry. How well can you see why I move the way I do? Do you understand the altered vocabulary in my head, how the meanings and nuances are shifted?

I don't expect anyone to. It's like asking someone to become something completely different. Now I just hope for a good translation.

Because you aren't here, you aren't here when I am myself. ...I think she's just pieces of me you've never seen...

I am discovering how to live with myself.

Comments

[tinywarrior.livejournal.com]

I see a girl with beautiful dark hair and giant moss green eyes. I see a child who wants to cling to the memory of the best parts of her past. I see a girl who wears her tattoos on the inside of her body, traced in black irasible ink that tell stories of contained rage and bitter disappointments. I see a girl whose smiles are tentative at their beginnings and make me think of the Spanish word alba...daybreak. I see a girl made for hugs, babies, and big love. I see a girl who needs rituals in her life, both grand and subtle; a girl who finds comfort in familiar patterns, textures, scents. I see a girl who holds much of herself in, cloistered, for fear that she will spill out and not find her way back. I see a girl whose laughter is throaty and warm. I see a girl with a talent for secret words and unfamiliar sounds rolling off her tongue. I see a girl who sometimes doubts that passion in all things is her birthright. I see a girl who is kind and fiercely loyal. I see you, Amanda. Perhaps just pieces of you...but, oh how they do glitter and sparkle like the precious gifts that they are.

[raindog.livejournal.com]

I appreciate so very much your articulation of thoughts that loom unformed in most of us, Tsarina.

"Do you understand the altered vocabulary in my head, how the meanings and nuances are shifted?"

A deceptively simple description of both our self-creation and definition, and our existence far beyond words.