the sensation was scissors

a blue guitar, a set of stars, or those exactly who they are
There are things you think of only when reading a really good fic (or, book, i suppose) and when you've been horribly sleep-deprived. Every song played on shuffle seems perfect. All of your experiences seem worth sharing with the world, and you want to stuff them all in one big book and then leave lying around for someone precious to accidentally read.

Sometimes I just need to tell stories about the small feelings, shall shades of feelings and complexities of life, like - that is exactly what I want to tell, exactly what I've always been telling: there's no easy way. There's no definite answer. There's no objective truth, there's just you and what you do and what happens.

But I suck at making up characters, or at least, doing so from scratch, as I am perfectly capable of slowly developing a backstory for a character we barely know. Well.

And also - sometimes you get such tight, intense feeling of yourself: this is me. this is me, tired and uncomfortable and travelling, all by myself, always, being happy of songs, wanting to share them, like small shells and cobblestones found on the shore, where everyone could see them and pick them up, but they didn't, and now i get to cherish them; this is me, waxing poetic about fanfiction, tipping a cute girl and not being able to say how this coffee obviously is saving me right now, or anything else remotely flirty, and me, hurting and okay with it, and okay being alone, because i get to feel. i get to feel. i get to have words. i get to put favorite songs on repeat, isn't this all there is?

And isn't that feeling enough to create whole worlds?

@темы: на полях, inside, утро

2016-07-29 в 15:39 

кандидат небесных наук / летний солдат / telepathetic
that's great.
and y'know
sometimes I think that English as a good - actually, the best - language to tell important things.
When I start telling it in Russian, I feel like I've spoken about it thousand times. The magic of feelings disappears, and the happiness of being honest with your inner self also fades away. It all becomes routine. Just ordinary words for the ordinary seconds of life. Of course, you can become emotional, you can add colours, pictures, videos, but even so it all will be too usual to speak about.
Maybe the reason is that there are no mind stereotypes, when the language is foreign.

i like your shells and cobblestones.

2016-07-29 в 23:59 

a blue guitar, a set of stars, or those exactly who they are
thank you. i really appreciate this, i do.

sometimes... English just works, you know? like, it's most probably because I've been reading something in English, so the words very naturally came to me in English, but... I like your reasons, as well. I think it has to do, at least in part, with our unfamiliarity with it, even when we know it well. It just... it's kinda freeing, to use English. More freeing than Russian, in a weird way.
although I also recognize that there are some things that just get me more in Russian, the way they won't ever be able to get me in English. the hurt is more deep and profound, the pain is more acute, when the song, the text is in Russian. that feeling can't be achieved in English (for me), no matter how much I feel.

2016-07-31 в 09:57 

i wish i were as accepting of emotions as you are

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в промежутках меж чудом и чаем