Diary extract No 31
Met the neighbor boy with the Wodehouse name whilst ill, today, clambering up the stairs on my way back from ballet. (With a fever of 38.6 °C and a scuffed pink pair of slippers in one hand.) Feeling hopelessly out of place here because no one understands, not really, not how excruciatingly exquisite everything can be. And I know I mustn't be so sad. Mustn't, mustn't mustn't. Stolen Henry's old bomber jacket as a (hopeless) cure. Mustn't be so cold in this indian summer heat, he says. Mustn't, mustn't, mustn't. There are a lot of things I mustn't do, you see. Either it's 'stop-all-this-nonsense-at-once' or it's 'oh-you-poor-dear' and I hate them both, hate them both so, so wretchedly it makes my skin burn and kindles a fire in my chest until I can't stop myself crying. And I feel silly for crying. For looking like a wilted English rose on a side-path through the park.
The kitchen is completely devoid of milk. And this is a great tragedy because I am desperate for some tea, but I can't seem to make it past my front door. (The one with the too-small keyhole that my key never fits.) Until it's three in the morning and I realise I wasn't made to miss things. Then it is three in the morning and I am marching like a Greek soldier in a phalanx of one off to conquer the dairy aisle of the grocer's. (Then to come back and fight a battle against my front latch.) It seems all I do is worry, worry, worry and there isn't any time for other things or other people. Some days it's all only white, then the next it's all only Cs and who knew eyes could ever seem so cruel? Even Alexandre just sits and stares, watching from the corner, doing nothing but looking on--devastated.
I am alone here, you see. Not even the moths will be my friends.
10 comments:
Elly, please remember to see The Magic, even when your eyes are playing tricks on you. I have whispered a spell to the northwest wind to see that you feel better - try to hear it, darling. Your words are beautiful as always. fondly, D. xx
I am alone too. How vividly I understand everything you've said here. Much love to you, dearest. xox
Oh, this is marvelous and sad.
E, you're not alone dearest, I often have the wilted rose syndrome. I wish it were possible for hugs and cups of tea to be sent through the internet but alas, it is not possible, my good wishes will have to do dear. It gets better, I promise. Much love - A xxx
Don't know what to say. Everything I think of fits into either "stop-all-this-nonsense-at-once" or "oh-you-poor-dear", so I feel like I shouldn't say anything at all. But I can't just sit by and observe your sadness. So I will say this: things will get better. They will, they will, they will. Tell yourself that a hundred times a day. Remember to Believe. Remember everything you've talked about here on your blog. You are brave. You are loved by us all. xxx
As A said, you are not alone, never think that. If I could send peonies to you in a letter I would, and if you ever wish to talk, I am always near. xx
This is beautiful.
(and, Elly- give the universe the saddest of smiles and make yourself a painting for a day, everything'll be alright.)
your blog is the loveliest i have seen for a very long time. gonna spend the rest of this hour scrolling through your pictures and thoughts. <3
Sometimes, failing understanding, to be heard, to be seen, and wondered about, even if the wonderer doesn't yet understand can be a comfort. Know for a moment, that I am wondering about you. I do not know you, nor do I understand precisely what you're experiencing. But I know that exquisite life, can overwhelm, it is wonderful yes, and beautiful and perfect, and has trees, oh so vast, and small and amazing and too, too, much sometimes. And so, I wish you well, and I wonder what it is you are knowing.
Everything will get better, dear~
You are a star.
You are loved and will always be.
You are beautiful.
All my love. xx
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like talking to trees, your whispers hidden in the wind. only sometimes the trees talk back. like wishing on a star and having the star wish on you. say what you like; there's always someone listening.
a very merry thank you.