The things I hold onto

-Written in May 2016, in France. 

Surface of water was sparkling. But not that kind of sparking, in which glitters are combined and reflected shining effect of colors. And maybe not that kind of sparkling like “little twinkle stars” on the sky at nights. How I saw it, and would try to express them in non-physical way: was thousands, millions and billions of moves on the surface. Because of the wind, beaches here were not having still surface as lakes in JKL. They always moved. Big waves made those thousand small moves lasting endlessly. One wave after another. One wave touched stones, then bounced back and collided with another wave coming up. Waves came from movements of people on the left. Waves come from me throwing a stone onto it. If one looks further away enough, that’s how the sparkling outlook starts to show. 

Water is transparent, but to me, it doesn’t mean you cannot notice its color. Its color comes from beneath, like where I am sitting now, its reddish followed by the stones’ colours. A bit further from me to the right, it looked greenish. On my left, it became brownish as hills standing right up on water are brown. Some other more sun-shining days, water will wear a green-blue jacket. Flexibility, I say. Water does not need to have its own colour identity. The flexibility or such adaptation is its identity. 

I started to think about the poem “Small Boy” I posted many posts ago, while throwing one stone after another…”if his hand can just be unclenched and let go“. 

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Le Trayas
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Le Trayas

I was wearing that dress, the dress on that fourth official date we had. I wore it then, and got compliments by him. He liked it. And I was never getting bored of his adore. I wore the dress when we were standing in center of JKL city. I wore it when he closely placed his hands on my face, pulled me closer. Around us, the sound of church bell ringing echoed. Those moments. I thought they were too good for me to receive. I have never stopped being afraid the moments as such will be stolen from me soon, eventually. I forgot about the dress when I had to think of what to wear today. I opened my drawer to see it lying there. “Well, maybe you need some fresh sea smell as I do“. 

I got to run to the sea, or go somewhere new at some point. I mean I was already in France, moving to a new place, I know. But I had figured out new place doesn’t erase my past. They only distract it. If the problem is your head, there is no permanent way to hide from it

The distraction though, is already good enough. People don’t understand what’s in my head. It’s okay sometimes, because I don’t either. But when people look at me as if this is my choice, I got angry. Maybe I got angry for wrong reasons. But I am anyway. And I give up trying to lean on someone for support. It’s getting more cruel, each individual just have to deal with our own problems for so long, we forget how to become compassionate for others when they need.

We kept thinking to ourselves “I’ve gone through it, you will too. Now i have other problems of my own. I cannot do anymore for you. It’s your choice. Gotta do it on your own.”

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Anyway, so going to some new places, even just a new area, give me this tiny bit of excitement, wonderfulness and willingness to win my battles. Such feeling is my drug. Whether it is an addiction, or a wooden piece I hold onto for not returning to bad feelings, I don’t know. I do know I don’t want to feel bad always anymore. 

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