I keep asking God for the same thing, every night when I go to bed. Every Sunday, or Saturday night in my case, every time I'm reminded of it. Guidance. And one more thing. But that's not important. I keep telling myself that, and maybe it becomes true. Someone must've told the script writers that gullible girls like myself fall like bricks for this kind of thing. Because it's true. And I'm not gullible. I'm just confused and niave.
Not usually words anyone associates with me. Bossy, bitchy, assertive, motherly, and overbearing, as Carly so aptly put it this afternoon in English. But rarely confused. And in all things but one, never niave.
I suppose it's the idealist in me peeking through. I harbor it in the deepest part of me, the secret belief that what I want is possible. But why do they seem so scared looking at each other ? If it's so wonderful, if it's beautiful and wonderous and ... indescribable, then why do they look scared ? Is it because all things great inspire great fear, because you know you can't get out of them ? Is it because fear is hiding from what you didn't think could ever happen ? Is it because you don't want to believe it's happening to you of all people ? Is it because in that moment when you know it doesn't exist in head, you're so sure that it lives at heart ?
Sometimes I think it would be better if I just lived without it. Those are the times when I want it most.
And I won't put it down in words because the words don't do it justice. I refuse to try and describe something that changes lives, souls, destiny, perspective, worlds. I refuse to try and describe something that inspires the greatest music in history, the best films, the most brilliant thinkers. I refuse to try and put into one small word what has been the object of so many dreams and hopes and ... lives.
My one weakness. Damn it.
Maybe it's all well and good that I won't. That I can't. I don't know the first thing about it.
