GUIL (quietly): Where we went wrong was getting on a boat. We can move, of course, change direction, rattle about, but our movement is contained within a larger one that carries us along as inexorably as the wind and current… (3.332)
This has stuck with me for about a year now.
I don’t know how much I believe in pure “fate,” … okay I do know how much — not at all… but what I do believe is that our choices put us on routes that sometimes, are never-turn-back kind of paths, those defining choices we don’t realize until after we’ve already made them.
I hate it, mostly, because I’m taking out this frustration on other people that don’t deserve it.
I cannot remember the last time I cried, but I just feel so overwhelmed, like nothing is really going to go how I am planning it, and I just feel like I will bust out in tears whenever I think about this too much. I need it to work out this time.
I just need things to work out.
Everything is so close - so close to being right… but then, I look and there’s this whole other world of “right” right here. And then I don’t know if what I’m doing is right anymore.
It’s tearing me up, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I want everything that is so close to just happen now. Stop teetering on the edge. Just happen.
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge, like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd and wrought, and thought with me--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I really don’t understand! I was just thinking this morning (while reading, of course) how much I love movies, and plays, and books. But there are some things that can never properly be conveyed through actions and you just need words to understand it…
As I drive around my home town, it’s hard to not remember places specific things happened.
They don’t have to be defining moments.
It doesn’t have to be anything special.
Just moments I don’t think I’ll ever forget, if for no other reason than these places I drive by so often in my every-day life bring me back.
They always bring me back.
It’s mostly at night, when I’m driving by myself, so worn out nothing sticks in my mind for more than a few moments.
On those nights; those times where I’m perfectly alone, I see the vague memories of what once was, all over this city.
It seems to be somewhere every few miles. Sometimes one area of town has more of these spots than another, but they never seem to change. They are always the same things, every time.
It is as if when I turn the corner and finally approach that place, I expect the headlights of my car to illuminate those moments. I expect these shadows to be thrown into deep relief and to come alive again, so I can relive those parts of my life I will never forget.
That intersection where my friends rode their bikes past the car, and he followed them for me, knowing exactly who they were, and hating them, just so I could say ‘hello’.
That swing set not so far off the main road where I remember talking to him, sitting on the ground under the swings while he cried and I just hugged him and watched the distant cars’ headlights rush by.
The church parking lot where we, time and time again, almost got caught for being out past curfew (or at least, I was sure we would get caught), and we just stayed in his car and talked.
That other parking lot, where everything and anything would happen while we just sat in that car with the radio on, talking about life past two in the morning.
Running that red light and him telling me I’m obviously blind and can’t read into a guy’s texts properly.
…and so many more.
It’s like every time I come across one of these places, I’m waiting to see myself, immortalized, just how I remember it. I’m waiting for the memory me to catch the me I am today watching these ghosts. I feel like I’m intruding on something that was never really real. On something that will never be real again. Watching a private scene. Years too late, and just too far away to re-live it.
I just long to go back, sometimes. Just into those memories. To something I know I’ll never forget. To something tangible that meant it really happened.
But every time - every single time - the light of my car swallows those scenes, drowning them in the reality that nothing is there for me anymore, and as those ghosts dissolve into the dark, I can’t help but wonder if anyone else sees them, too.
“They’re fucking gross, man. Look, I love beautiful girls too. I think everyone should be free to have their knee socks and their sweaty shorts, but I’m over it. I’m over this weird, exhausted girl. I’m over the girl that’s tired and freezing and hungry. I like bossy girls, I always have. I like people filled with life. I’m over this weird media thing with all this, like, hollow-eyed, empty, party crap.”—
Dude, I have always been 100% entirely convinced that Jess Mariano is my true soul mate. Fuck fictionality. He is perfect. The scene at the winter carnival always makes me cry like a baby. Stupid stupid Rory.
I am convinced of it. I don’t understand who that person is in real life, but he is my soul mate. I don’t think I will ever be satisfied without my Jess. I don’t want the dumb nice guy, or the jerky rich guy that really cares…