The Flossy Flossy
Keeping it “on the real” the best I can.Archive for love
Du, Min Elskede
Noen ganger på midten av natta sitter jeg her og tenker at jeg er fremdeles forelska i deg. Du har en krav over meg som jeg ikke kan forstå. Ingen–ingen–kunne gjøre meg til å føle som du gjør: både ekstatisk og ulykkelig.
Jeg føler meg flau–Å tenke slik, å tenke så mye om deg når du ikke bryr om meg i det hele tatt. For hvis jeg hadde krysset hodet ditt ville du ha vært ærlig med meg. Hvis du hadde tenkt på meg, hvis bare litt, hvis du hadde vurdert følelsene mine da ville du ikke ha løyet. Du ville ha fortalt meg sannheten og du ville ha skadet meg for å beskytte meg.
Jeg vil høre no annent enn din stillhet! Si til meg alle dine stygge ord, i det minste skal de fyller opp dette romet med no rørende: jeg vil hate deg, jeg vil glemme deg og kaste deg ut av mitt liv. Men med den måten du forlatt meg skal jeg aldri være sikker, og jeg klarer ikke å finne det inni meg til å føle no annent enn blindt forelska, håpløs, og såra. Jeg klarer ikke å gjøre no annent enn å vente på deg å komme rundt og tilgi deg. Lille dumme meg.
Departing Feelings
So many thoughts and emotions.
Removing the pin from Katherine’s letter on my wall.
A sudden urge to take a bus ride to Andebu. Pour voir, pour voir comment il vivait. Pour regarder les mêmes bâtiments que, peut-être, il regardait, et marcher parmi les mêmes rues qu’il marchait.
Packing. This shirt doesn’t smell like me. Perhaps some lingering scent from a previous rendezvous. Un uomo norvegese…o forse tedesco.
Lying on the living room couch, room dimly lit by a singular lamp. A comforting orange cast on the ceiling. Tori Amos’ Gold Dust playing; I’ve been here so many times before. The familiarity of it all: the fireplace, the cognac on the glass table, the flickering eyes and that emerging, probing question of whether or not you’re falling in love then and there. E poi, that moment of closing in, brushing lips, moist and tender. It’s a different setting, but the same warmth, the same feeling. And it feels so real. I think I could love him, but that would be stupid.
“Det ordner seg for snille gutter.” Det må.
L’autre, il n’avait que vingt ans quand ils se sont rencontrés. And everything after that fell into place accordingly: even the drama seems to have written itself out a painful yet perfect addendum to their story. Jeg skal fylle det samme nummeret neste år. But will I be so lucky? So fortunate? Blessed? To think, that I could meet “The One” next year—but alas, non sarà lui! (You can’t blame me for thinking. Vi kan ikke være forelska av noen som vi aldri har møtt. Vi kan bare trekke fra våre erfaringer og skape forventninger derfra.) Allora, a guy can hope.
Tengo tanto amor que dar, ¿pero cuando él me va a encontrar?
Io sono qui, staring at a glowing rectangular box. And every time I look at the trees outside my window they seem to be merging together…but they never do. And as much as I crave our union, any union, it’s only an illusion.
Kunne. Det kunne vært annerledes. In another world, another lifetime, kunne han vært min?
An Ounce of Cure
I was reading a piece by Alice Munro for my Internasjonal Engelsk class when I came upon this passage. God, she puts it more eloquently than I ever could. That night was the beginning of months of real, if more or less self-inflicted, misery for me. Why is it a temptation to refer to this sort of thing lightly, with irony, with amazement even, at finding oneself involved with such preposterous motions in the past? That is what we are apt to do, speaking of love; with adolescent love, of course, it’s practically obligatory; you would think we sat around, dull afternoons, amusing ourselves with these tidbit recollections of pain. But it really doesn’t make me feel very gay — worse still, it doesn’t really surprise me — to remember all the stupid, sad, half-ashamed things I did, that people in love always do. I hung around the places where he might be seen, and then pretended not to see him; I made absurdly roundabout approaches, in conversation, to the bitter pleasure of casually mentioning his name. I daydreamed endlessly; in fact if you want to put it mathematically, I spent perhaps ten times as many hours thinking about Martin Collingwood — yes, pining and weeping for him — as I ever spent with him; the idea of him dominated my mind relentlessly and, after a while, against my will. For if at first I had dramatized my feelings, the time came when I would have been glad to escape them; my well-worn daydreams had become depressing and not even temporarily consoling…. It’s fiction, but it has all been lived before. There should be a club for people like us. Or a Facebook group.
Auditory Doritos
I have big intentions. Huge plans and goals. I just can’t conceive them. I’ve always been in awe of songwriters; they make the process of creating a song seem so effortless. I want to do that. I want to carve out the intangible, capture and preserve a feeling, a moment, an emotion, and then pass it on to others. There exists nothing more satisfying.
But tonight, I’ll relegate myself to sharing other people’s songs, so unwax those ears.
1. Super Junior 너라고 (It’s You)
Det blir ikke ofte at jeg forelsker meg i noen, men de få gangene jeg gjør det, faller jeg tungt. Sai questa sensazione di essere innamorato di qualcuno? You’re consumed by an urge to dig, to create a niche for yourself under their skin. Du trenger å være så nær som mulig, som en del av dem. Allora, sono lì, ancora lì.
이미 너는 다른 사랑했겠지만
놓칠 수가 없어 다시 돌이킬 수 없어…
2. Kelly Clarkson Don’t Let Me Stop You
Rockin’. Relatable. Right.
3. Nek ft. Laura Pausini Sei Solo Tu
It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of Nek, e non solo perché è gnocco. His music and lyrics are filled to the brim with emotion and intensity; they stir up feelings of boundlessness and nostalgia, and remind us of the fragility of being human. Mi sento il vivo quando ascolto lui.
Perché mi piaci in ogni modo,
Why do I like you in every way,
da ogni lato o prospettiva, tu?…
From every side and perspective, you?…
E poi sai fare morire un uomo
And you know how to make a man die
con l’innocenza del pudore che non hai…
with the innocent modesty that you don’t possess…
Perché sei bella che mi fai male…
Because you are beautiful that it hurts me…
Sei solo tu nei giorni miei…
There is only you in my days…
Sei solo tu e dimmi che
There is only you, and tell me that
sono questo ora anch’io per te…
I am also the same to you…
4. Cajsa Stina Åkerström Långt Härifrån
This is your standard 90s midnight light rock jam, but what I love about this song is Åkerström’s voice. She traverses the octaves so smoothly and easily, it’s enrapturing.
5. Keith Urban Til Summer Comes Around
And I saved the best for last. God, this song is everything I feel right now: deserted, wishing on something that doesn’t exist yet still persistant and keeping that flickering hope alive. And the guitar riff makes me speechless. This isn’t a song to listen to, this is a song to live.
I think all the songs here on this collection reflect a fragment of my mindset right now. They sing what I couldn’t dare say.
Done, Part II
Encore une fois, I feel stupid. Encore une fois, I was tricked by my own feeling of self-importance. And the only person to really fall for it was me–a victim to my own fantasies, desires, and expectations.
Je crois toujours en l’amour vrai, mais pas cette fois. Pas maintenant. Je vais retourner à San Francisco.
