One Art by Elizabeth Bishop and You Whose Hands Are More Innocent Than Mine by Vesna Parun.
Reading these two poems and listening to Flashback by Fat Freddy’s Drop take me travelling back several years ago. Back to the college days and Autumn. Mastering the art of losing.
Our whole life we are losing something, things of every kind, people of every kind – those who we loved or we wanted to love, chances for success, for friendship, for love…losing…but we never become used to it, we are just pretending we don’t care because of a fear of being hurt. But you cannot trick the Universe. All these things and feelings you pushed away struck you back and then tragicomedy begins. With the main question “Why this is happening to me?!” or “Why I had to be so stupid?” you finally realise the better option was to get into it because you’re hurt anyway, except you have a bargain of guilt now. Somehow, those people, or things, got under your skin although you didn’t want it. I believe it’s Karma’s fault.
And you start to act odd, not to say insane because you know the chance is lost, but can’t throw feelings out of your body cells. Modern technology doesn’t make it easier. You get reminders whenever you log in to any social networks. So, how not to send a message? How to resist? And you send it. Then, after you grasp the fact you actually did it (and a thought that the person on the other side is rolling his/hers eyes by the fact the message is from you), you have to justify unnecessary action to yourself. That exacting earnest conversation-with yourself, of course. Afterwards, you can blame it on PMS, period, ovulation, alcohol, or even low blood pressure. Plenty possibilities are out there.
The next logical step in this whole process of fighting with yourself is to forbid yourself from sending messages anymore. It’s maybe an ambitious aim. You won’t send anything in near future. You make a promise to your heart, brain, ego and every part of your existence, make an oath to the universe, god, favorite socks, chocolate or whatever that you never ever do it again. Temptation never sleeps and next month it seems like it’s been forever till last time you sinned, so you forswear and start from the very beginning once again.
It’s very interesting, and frustrating at the same time, how you can’t cut off the strings that attach you to some people, even more than some others you loved (more), or had something bigger and a way more serious. It must be some kind of chemical reaction. Or soul connection. Or masochism. After accepting there’s no chance for any real thing or for anything between you two and after accepting he or she doesn’t have any need to hear or see you, only that remains is a hope other person doesn’t find you obnoxious and will text you once, with no particular reason, just to ask you how are you, those simple, but thoughtful words which make your heart warm.
Well, I could blame the medication for writing this article. Sore throat, needless to say.