yet she gets thrown off course so often. her life seems unsustainable, her relationships stunted. maybe because of the imprudent belief that if she acted this way, did this, said that, wore these, she would become worthy. it will procure love from these people. & she will never be alone.
& then she craves solitude like water, air. her whole life has been an effort to create a galaxy of people who adore her. then her sadness seems to evolve from misunderstandings & assumptions she is unaware of. she knows she created them. unconsciously, she says. self-destructive is more likely.
she's never felt god, guardian angels, other-worldly spirituality. alone she can only feel her own biology. breath, blood, cells. headache. congestion. hangover. empathy. envy. pain. she feels everything but inspiration. she feels no guide, only her own sense. so far it's been enough.
she is in love. but she has an inherent distrust of love. she has no idea where that's come from; her parents have been happily, if a-typically married for 30 years. never been cheated on, never abused in any way, never anything but adored.
she just wants bliss. a sustainable bliss. no drug has found it for her. love brings it closer, but it's still out of reach, always fleeting. aesthetics help, beautiful things, beautiful feelings, touches, tastes, sounds, lights, movements, words, clothes, sentences, people, thoughts, meanings, art, music, books. it's all come so close.
she minors in history of art and architecture at her university. she majors in english literature. everyone has always asked why. 'it's the only thing i'm good at, the only subject i ever enjoyed.' which is true.
but why.
it's her search for ultimate bliss. if she could just read enough literature, acquire enough images. understand their meanings, feelings, aspirations. it's the closest she's ever felt to a god, to a guardian angel, to inspiration.
so she will dedicate her life to it.
