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m_f_e_o
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Name: Samantha
Country: Switzerland
Birthday: 12/19/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: I like to leave little notes where it takes a while to find them...I'm picky about my toothpaste...I'm addicted to coffee...some call me crazy. I say I'm an extroverted existentialist with severe a.d.d....I write poetry, albeit crappy...I like art and wish I had a talent...I like strawberries and whipped cream, mornings with light colors and sunshine, summer nights where it's warm outside...sitting on a car hood watching the sun set...talking on the phone until you fall asleep because you just can't bear to say goodbye...those rare times when you're listening to a cd while you're with someone or doing something and the song comes on that perfectly fits the mood....nights that seem like movie scenes when the camera fades away...feeling so much emotion you can't seem to breathe...standing in parking lots and screaming out the lyrics....emo lyrics...
Expertise: I'm an expert at sleeping, at making sense only to myself, at confusing people I'm trying to make a point to, not winking
Occupation: Student
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  youcanbreathe19
MSN: melancholyphilosopher@hotmail.com
Member Since:
9/30/2005
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| Daze There’s a place between dream and awake that is perhaps best understood by what the world is like right after the rain stops. The clouds still hang, the wind still rips, and everything is soaked, but the air is finally clear. The world is wet. The world is still recovering from the rain, but in reality, the rain has moved on. So dreams move on once they’ve finished, but they persist in our minds long after they’ve gone. The worst part about dreams is that you aren’t aware you’re having one until it’s gone. Maybe if you knew it were a dream, you’d think of it differently, not take it so seriously. That way, it couldn’t haunt you the rest of the day.
The conversation was like the air after the passing of a dream. She wasn’t aware of the weight and importance of the conversation while they were talking. All she knew was that she was having fun, she was smiling, and she was cold. The wind blew her hair across her face so that it stuck on her lips. He reached over and moved the lost strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She was afraid to look over at him. She didn’t know she was afraid, much less what she was afraid of, but she knew she wanted to and couldn’t. She smiled and kept talking. She could tell he was looking at her. She stopped talking mid-sentence. He didn’t ask why she stopped talking. He never asked anything. She didn’t expect him to ask, but she wanted him to. After a moment of silence, she looked over at him. She looked into his eyes. She smiled, looked away, and continued her story. That was the climax, that was the turning point, that’s when the line between reality and dream was washed away by the fog, the mist, and the rain on her fingertips.
She still hadn’t realized what was happening when he began plaguing her dreams. She couldn’t fall asleep without thinking of him, and she couldn’t wake up without dreaming of him. Sometimes, he only appeared for a few seconds. Sometimes, he was the main character. Sometimes, they were in a romantic comedy; other times it was just a replay of the night before. Whether in reality or in dreams, they continued having their nightly conversations. She awaited the chimes of her text messages anxiously. She couldn’t help but smile when she heard it. She awaited the low-toned, soft knock at her door, and walked outside to take her regular seat. Sometimes, he would stand there and look at her, and she’d have to coerce him in to sitting down. When it was wet outside, the sidewalk was saturated, so they squeezed together onto the door stoop. The smoke swirled around their heads, forming a cloud around them, a cloud to protect them from the rain clouds, a cloud to hold safe their conversations. The conversations weren’t anything special. They didn’t make any dramatic discoveries about the universe, they didn’t debate the existence of God, they didn’t share long stories of their pasts. They just talked, like friends. They teased one another. Most commonly, he made fun of her for being short. She retorted with jokes about his watching Project Runway. They talked about movies. They both loved Wes Anderson. Maybe they did have more in common. Maybe it was all fake.
How do you ever really know if what you’re getting is reality? Intuition is your only guide. You could think you’re learning every detail of someone, and everything they’re saying could be a lie. If you have fun with them, though, if you’re just talking each night, what does that matter? It’s like reading a book. You’re hearing stories, you’re learning facts. It doesn’t matter if every detail is true. It’s surely more interesting if what you’re learning is true, but it’s just as enrapturing if it isn’t.
He got up to leave. She rose with him and picked up her purse. He started walking to his car. They walked around the corner of the building. There was a kitten sitting on the stair flat. She ran up to it and started petting it. He laughed lightly. She turned to look at him with taunting eyes.
What exactly are you laughing at?
He just smiled. Always silent.
You’re laughing at me aren’t you?
He looked down at his shoes, still smiling.
She walked up to him. Gee, thanks.
It’s not a bad thing, I promise. You’re just really cute.
In what way?
It’s so innocent, so sweet.
Well, I guess that’s a good thing.
It is. Trust me.
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| I feel before my thoughts all springI've realized you can't count on other people for your dreams. It
simply doesn't work, especially if you let them know you're counting on
them like that. People can't bear that kind of weight, and the universe
can't let you hold someone else responsible like that. Whether the
person or the universe bends first, at some point, the system will
break. You dreams will be drowned.
I made plans banking on someone else to take part in them, dreamy
scenes I wanted to live out. First, he wouldn't let that happen. Then
the universe broke it all apart. Now, on my own, I've achieved it,
totally alone....and it was everything I ever could have imagined.
I know there's something to be said sometimes for sharing a special
moment with someone, but you can't plan that kind of thing. It just
won't work. The best, most beautiful moments I've ever lived out with
another person have been completely spontaneous. I finally appreciate
that. Otherwise, even if the event happens, it feels contrived and
unreal....and totally unsatisfying.
Those dreams you have, those scenes you play in your head, those are
your dreams, yours alone. Even if someone shares those plans after some
point, originally, they were your dreams and plans. They're meant for
you to enjoy by yourself.
I never knew that until today.
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| Another Green WorldNew scene. New view. New perspective.
Back in Knoxville both sadly and thankfully. It will be better when
everyone else gets here, too, I suppose. New apartment. Again a happy
and sad event.
Winter break was unlike anything else I have ever experienced. It
wasn't what I immediately expected, but I suppose it was what I
expected in the long run. I've imagined nights like this, nights like
those. I dreamt of them; I longed for them. Now that they're the
present, I only look to the past. I guess that's not entirely true. The
present is forcing me to look to the past, but I remain fully aware of
the present and it's current offerrings and bizzarre twists. Never
before in my life have I more felt that my life is what other people
dream of. My life is what children fantasize what everyone predicts. It
isn't even a more bland version of a Hollywood presentation. This is
it. This is everything you're ever told in fairy tales. Don't mistake
me; I'm in no way talking about love. I'm simply talking about life,
complete with soundtrack and all.
I appreciate that I am appreciating it all.
I sat this morning with my coffee staring out my new bedroom window. It
was majestic. It was poetic. It was everything I've ever wanted. It
moved me.
I am alive, truly, fully, breathlessly alive....and I don't even need
love to make me feel that way. Kind of goes against everything I've
ever preached, huh? Well, maybe not. Maybe because I have experienced
true love a couple times over, I can fully appreciate the peace I've
found now.
All in a cup of coffee.
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| Hell is Other PeopleWho believes in signs? (I swear none of this has to do with the movie Serendipity, though that does have John Cusak, so I have seen it)
How much faith should be put in the small coincidences in life? I believe in magic, in that the Universal Life Force that gives us our choices gives us certain choices with more emphasis, or rather, more foreshadowing for the effects of certain choices. I believe deja vu is a sign of sorts, that maybe you should pay more attention to that circumstance, like looking for the tiny details in a movie scene. Where do you draw the line, though? Are coincidences ever truly meaningless? I find it hard to buy into that given the minute probability that certain things would happen.
So, I'm supposed to pay more attention to the scene, look for the foreshadowing, but life isn't a movie, so the plot's much harder to read into. What does it mean? How do you know when to follow the clue?
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| I could dress in black and read CamusWhat's the cost of stability? How do you measure incommensurables? How do you decided between your own emotion or the negative effects of motivation? How to you know when to pull the plug or keep playing? If only it were a game. I've always felt that pain is better than vacuity, at least when it's your own pain. If that's the case, though, either way you're suffering. How do you gauge which is the better option? Do you rely on intuition, professional opinion, or personal advice? How do you decide? These questions aren't regarding romance, but these lyrics still fit the bill: I don't want to get over you. I guess I could take
a sleeping pill and sleep at will and not have to
go through what I go through. I guess I should take
Prozac, right, and just smile all night at somebody new,
Somebody not too bright but sweet and kind who would
try to get you off my mind. I could leave this agony behind
which is just what I'd do if I wanted to, but I don't
want to get over you cause I don't want to get over love.
I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist
and not have to dream of what I dream of; I could listen
to all my friends and go out again and pretend it's enough,
or I could make a career of being blue--I could dress
in black and read Camus, smoke clove cigarettes and drink
vermouth like I was 17 that would be a scream but I
don't want to get over you.
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