Tag: I want more

Coffee and a cigarette. I drink tea and I don’t smoke. Classical music. Loud. What about post rock and progressive? Too loud. For now. In front of me, a book. It drew me in. An autobiographical striptease. No niceties. Just truth. Me at the center. Recognizing that I sit here, day in and day out. In a haze. I’m sad. I am numb. I can’t be. I can’t do. Tomorrow, I will get up and do whatever I need to do. Today I sit here. There are no thoughts. Blank. Empty. When did I become this empty? I am full of thoughts. Of doubts. Full of shit. Yet I am empty. Where is that explosion of emotions? I wish I could cry. I can’t. I close my eyes, tilt my head to the side and with two fingers I rub my forehead. Just a moment of quiet. I open my eyes and look into the distance. There is nothing to see. Just all the things I can’t do. Life. I can’t do life right now. I don’t have the energy. I wish I knew who to blame. No one to blame. It’s not about them or what they don’t do. It’s about me. The lack of me and the question why I even exist. I am not doing anything. Just sitting. Starring. Sipping coffee and waiting for the day to be over. It’s only morning. And I am tired. Tired of not knowing what to do. I know exactly what to do, but those are not the things I am referring to. I am not lazy. But I am not here. No one’s home. Too many times I dreamed myself away. This time I didn’t come back. Apathetic. I forgot who I am. Who will I be? Deeper and deeper. I drown. Not in self-loathe or self-pity. I just drown. Around me, a cloud. It keeps me away from all the important emotions. Indifference. At the same time, I’m restless. Nervous inside. Irritable. Lost. But I don’t want to be found by just anyone. It has to be the right someone. And so, my thoughts come and go. In quick succession. If I could just do something. And use the word ‘just’ a lot less. There should be more. But there is nothing but grey. And I am a hostage. Caged by myself. And the voice that keeps telling me to be someone is getting louder again. Leave a footprint. Impress people with your skills. What skills? Believe in me! I can’t believe in myself. I am just an addict. Addicted to words people say and don’t mean. Hurt by those same words when I see that they were just that: words. Meaningless. When they meant everything to me. Another sip of coffee. It’s cold. The coffee. Not me. Starring in the distance again. Everything is blurry. Absently rubbing my fingers under my nose. They smell of cold cigarette smoke. Disgusting. Song number 8. I hear the word peace. It’s like waking up. My focus is broken. Did I just write these words? Should I read them again? Are there typos? And if there are, will they make me look as pathetic as I feel? Inadequate. And I think of that group I am a member of on Facebook. Very hidden, because it’s closed. The same people share on the same days. A song on Saturday. A reason to be grateful on Monday. I am an ungrateful bitch. I don’t own anything to anyone. And isn’t that a lie I tell myself? But I don’t want to be grateful for shallow things. And the meaningful things – they are mine. I don’t want to share them at a given time. And my songs? Just as weird as I am. Not ‘Music for the Masses’. If I could just hide. That thought clashes with that other longing. See me. Long months ago, close to three years now, I came up with a couple of sentences that capture me quite well:

See me, don’t just look at me. But if you look at me And see me, please love me

I look out of the window. The second-last piece of music plays and I look at the jewel-case next to me. It’s called ‘The Trees’. It sounds as if there is an imminent catastrophe. Nothing soothing in this music. I rub at the corner of my mouth. Left side. Unimportant details. Two word sentences. No style of writing. For a fleeting moment I wonder if this is hard to read and then I remember that I want it this way. Short sentences. Broken thoughts. More impact. The piano plays faster. My fingers type faster too. I close my eyes. Dive in the music. Head first. My fingers keep pushing buttons. I taught myself how to type. And then it stops. And all I want to do is plead for the song to go on.  But it doesn’t. I haven’t been able to let my fingers glide over the keyboard like this in a long while. Guided by the music. Me and music. Music and  me. I know nothing about music. I just know that I love to be touched. The music stopped. The spell is broken. The mood is lifted. Not much. But enough.For now. My thirst is not stilled. There is still hunger. Longing. Want. Need. But what happens when I get what I wanted and thought I needed? I will never be satisfied. It is never enough. There has to be more. Always more.

Some people get by
With a little understanding
Some people get by
With a whole lot more
I don’t know
Why you gotta be so undemanding
One thing I know
I want more
I want more

I’ll leave you with this. Oh and by the way… While I wrote this, I was listening to Max Richter – the Blue Notebooks