I don't know who wrote this, so forgive me if I don't give the proper credit. It's just one of those surprises that I find on my Tumblr dash every now and then that somehow gets caught in between the porn show and the catwalk that my dash almost always is.
It's probably good that I don't know who wrote this, so then I could continue with the fantasy i've made for myself, that this is me and only me.
The inevitable wanderer, the girl who always says goodbye, but never knows how to leave.
I mean how could someone else have written it? That line is achingly me, and the fact that I hadn't even come close to writing it is somewhat agitating me and piling on that molehill that is the things I may never be.
And then Norah Ephron died today, which is a totally different matter, but again it's that molehill that's quickly turning into a mountain because I say I want to be a writer but every time I come close to touching my pen on paper or my fingertips to these keys, I freeze and a massive cloud inhabits my mind as my breath gets caught up in my chest daring me to be more than this girl who wants and wants and wants but is too damn afraid to let herself go and be taken in for the ride that is scary and intimidating as shit, but god does she know it, is the only way for her to be able to fully face the mirror and tell herself, "i've lived".
The fact that so many people relate to this, and by that I can assume, go through the same thing is hardly any consolation to me. For who can honestly say that they are completely fine with being one with the faceless mass? Or even more than that, who can say that they relish being this girl those phrases allude to? Always seemingly stuck in a moment, with everything that she could be always out of reach.
So to whoever wrote this, it is a thing of beauty, but i'm returning it to you, because they are after all your truths. This, from the girl, who will always be painstakingly learning how to leave and with that, live.
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