Posted by susan47 on January 23, 2008, at 17:35:21
In reply to I Love You, posted by susan47 on January 1, 2008, at 12:55:37
Apparently Virgina Woolf once said (and a whole lot of other people, too, only she put it into writing and published it and so now we're all supposed to give her credit for it, which isn't wrong in itself, but it feels like every emotion that's been written about is second-hand, somehow, not my own. It isn't right, but without writers what kind of a world would we have? Perhaps one initiated into the present? Perhaps we like living in other worlds, in the past, in a future that hasn't come, yet...
she once said
"You can't think how I depend on you,
and when you're not there
the colour goes out of my life."So, okay. All right. And
It isn't fair, it isn't right.
To need someone so much, to depend on them for completion, wholeness, happiness.
Why can't we give that to ourselves?
We must. Somehow I absolutely have to do that, I can't rely on what isn't there, no wonder I feel so badly.
Who is that person, why can't I find her?
Is it really someone else? Is that happiness?
So confusing.
I am so tired of being, of feeling, alone.
poster:susan47
thread:760476
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20071223/msgs/808586.html