Love Letters
I just read a book, A Perfect Day for Love Letters, by George Asakura. (it's a comic book)
I don't know if I want volume 2.
The stories are romantically exciting...until the moment the two meet. When they meet, it's always yelling and crying and anger and confusion. I suppose it's a change from the "We were meant for each other" of other love stories, but it just doesn't seem that the two would gravitate toward one another if there was such animosity in their meeting in reality.
Do men even write letters like that? Do men think about women that way, and pine and long for? Or am I just not like other women?
I've always known I'm not. I'm not playing on the same field. They get to exist and be admired and longed for...by somebody in their life. I know I've never been a blip on the radar. Just a last resort. Maybe I was a pleasant surprise, but no one ever thought of me late at night, wishing that I would just look at them. I'm not like other girls.
A big part of my not wanting to read another volume is certainly, inarguably jealousy. I want somebody to want me more than I want them. I want to be a muse to someone. I want somebody to send me cryptic, beautiful, romantic love letters, where their true feelings and desires are revealed.
Any true feelings or desires about me have always been that I would probably be a surprisingly great lay, and they'd love to have the ability to leave it at that. That I was sweet, and would probably be fun to hang out with for a while. Never a muse. Never special enough to deserve better. Never worth an ounce more of effort or attention.
This self-pity isn't healthy, but if feels good to be honest about it, if only to myself. I'm bitter and jealous and upset, and it isn't changing.
It seems that other girls get attention while simply existing, by just being human. That's why I've always felt so distant from it all, why I didn't understand their complaints. I'd give anything just to feel human like that, just to exist and be appreciated for it. That's why I'm so hard on myself. I've got to try harder to be better than them, if not in looks, then in personality, and in desire and talent and stamina and sheer willingness and openmindedness. I beat myself up about making all the effort toward everything but the one thing that would change their minds.
Why can't you just fucking lose weight?
I'm stupid.
I still believe it'll solve all of my problems.
I wouldn't be the same person without all the weight. It makes me think differently, react differently...because I'm seen differently and treated differently. I am different. I'm not like other girls.
But all the same, I'd like to just let go and be nothing but worthless eye candy, since nothing I do is ever better than that. That's what they pine for, fight for, change themselves for...write love letters to. It's not me.
Where are my love letters?
Where is my humanity?
I don't know if I want volume 2.
The stories are romantically exciting...until the moment the two meet. When they meet, it's always yelling and crying and anger and confusion. I suppose it's a change from the "We were meant for each other" of other love stories, but it just doesn't seem that the two would gravitate toward one another if there was such animosity in their meeting in reality.
Do men even write letters like that? Do men think about women that way, and pine and long for? Or am I just not like other women?
I've always known I'm not. I'm not playing on the same field. They get to exist and be admired and longed for...by somebody in their life. I know I've never been a blip on the radar. Just a last resort. Maybe I was a pleasant surprise, but no one ever thought of me late at night, wishing that I would just look at them. I'm not like other girls.
A big part of my not wanting to read another volume is certainly, inarguably jealousy. I want somebody to want me more than I want them. I want to be a muse to someone. I want somebody to send me cryptic, beautiful, romantic love letters, where their true feelings and desires are revealed.
Any true feelings or desires about me have always been that I would probably be a surprisingly great lay, and they'd love to have the ability to leave it at that. That I was sweet, and would probably be fun to hang out with for a while. Never a muse. Never special enough to deserve better. Never worth an ounce more of effort or attention.
This self-pity isn't healthy, but if feels good to be honest about it, if only to myself. I'm bitter and jealous and upset, and it isn't changing.
It seems that other girls get attention while simply existing, by just being human. That's why I've always felt so distant from it all, why I didn't understand their complaints. I'd give anything just to feel human like that, just to exist and be appreciated for it. That's why I'm so hard on myself. I've got to try harder to be better than them, if not in looks, then in personality, and in desire and talent and stamina and sheer willingness and openmindedness. I beat myself up about making all the effort toward everything but the one thing that would change their minds.
Why can't you just fucking lose weight?
I'm stupid.
I still believe it'll solve all of my problems.
I wouldn't be the same person without all the weight. It makes me think differently, react differently...because I'm seen differently and treated differently. I am different. I'm not like other girls.
But all the same, I'd like to just let go and be nothing but worthless eye candy, since nothing I do is ever better than that. That's what they pine for, fight for, change themselves for...write love letters to. It's not me.
Where are my love letters?
Where is my humanity?
posted by sweetnfat at 3:04 PM
1 Comments:
You always have been your worst critic... then again, aren't we all? If ever you doubt your ability to be someone's muse... remember this...
Were it not for our frequent chats, the ability to heal together, and the knowledge that I had at least ONE person rooting for me, I'd likely still be in the emotional black hole I was in when we first met. And what greater muse is there than one who inspires not artwork, but life itself?
Hug yourself, give those who love you a swift kick in the backside to give you a little more attention in ways that make you feel it, and remember that you ARE a blip on the radar.
In Faith,
James aka SymbolicSight
"Never admit defeat even if you have been wounded."
-The 16th Principal from the "Encridion Militis Christiani", by Erasmus, circa 1503
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