Saturday, May 07, 2005
Ai writes the most introspective things, that in the light of this darkness, strike my heart again.. again.. again.
i thought of a story that day, on the train to london. this girl wakes up from a coma one day to find herself face to face with a man she's supposed to be in love with but can't remember. were we in love, she'll ask him, tentatively, for there is something untouchably sad as he looks upon her, and he will hesitate, and slowly, one paw tapping the tundra, he ventures a yes and that hangs between them big and nebulous and intimidating and empty. and they will slowly get back together, he will woo her like he did and they will be happy for a while for she was who she had been once again, with the lightness and the selflessness and the unselfishness of her love. but it doesn't last, nothing does. there starts the downward spiral, the doubts, the little things that were endearing start to annoy each other one day and the girl starts to suspect that maybe, maybe he was never hers and she was never his, and he had been lying to her the minute she woke up. and they will--
break. and she will look at him and she will ask him if this was what they had been before her accident-- unhappy. and finally, he looks at her with that closed closed look in his eyes, and he will tell her, no. no, they weren't happy when her accident happened. then you were lying, she would yell. you said we were in love. how can we have been in love if we were unhappy-- and he will say simply, quietly, love is pain. if you want to know what is love-- this. this is it. it is being with someone you know you will never have a happy ending with because not being together would have been even more excruciating. it is making each other miserable and yet coming, coming back to it everytime thinking it will be different. that you can make it different. you will change. she will change. but what if that change brings you further apart rather than together? and the audience will find out in a stunning revelation that they--
broke. they broke the day her accident happened. and he chose to go back and try and try again even when he knew how their story would end. and this, this... is love?
~
Is it, oh is it?? You know sometimes I silently scream out for someone, anyone, to tell me the answer to it all but I know the answer will never be black and white will never be precise. Because it ain't a TYS question, dearie. And love, in its multitudes, is oh-so difficult to fathom.
Never mind, I'll go sleep on it..
i thought of a story that day, on the train to london. this girl wakes up from a coma one day to find herself face to face with a man she's supposed to be in love with but can't remember. were we in love, she'll ask him, tentatively, for there is something untouchably sad as he looks upon her, and he will hesitate, and slowly, one paw tapping the tundra, he ventures a yes and that hangs between them big and nebulous and intimidating and empty. and they will slowly get back together, he will woo her like he did and they will be happy for a while for she was who she had been once again, with the lightness and the selflessness and the unselfishness of her love. but it doesn't last, nothing does. there starts the downward spiral, the doubts, the little things that were endearing start to annoy each other one day and the girl starts to suspect that maybe, maybe he was never hers and she was never his, and he had been lying to her the minute she woke up. and they will--
break. and she will look at him and she will ask him if this was what they had been before her accident-- unhappy. and finally, he looks at her with that closed closed look in his eyes, and he will tell her, no. no, they weren't happy when her accident happened. then you were lying, she would yell. you said we were in love. how can we have been in love if we were unhappy-- and he will say simply, quietly, love is pain. if you want to know what is love-- this. this is it. it is being with someone you know you will never have a happy ending with because not being together would have been even more excruciating. it is making each other miserable and yet coming, coming back to it everytime thinking it will be different. that you can make it different. you will change. she will change. but what if that change brings you further apart rather than together? and the audience will find out in a stunning revelation that they--
broke. they broke the day her accident happened. and he chose to go back and try and try again even when he knew how their story would end. and this, this... is love?
~
Is it, oh is it?? You know sometimes I silently scream out for someone, anyone, to tell me the answer to it all but I know the answer will never be black and white will never be precise. Because it ain't a TYS question, dearie. And love, in its multitudes, is oh-so difficult to fathom.
Never mind, I'll go sleep on it..
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