We’re all mutts.
We’re all inbred little phinxs’ that collect from here, take a little from there, and slide some of sucha such onto our plates from that other plate.
We’re all a portfolio.
We’re files of other peoples papers, other peoples quotes and other peoples thoughts; wanting a specific kind of attention on the clayselves we are forever moulding.
Lovers of writing, art, singing, songwriting, poetic little junkatrunks.
I have been really surprised at my desire for attention.
I suppose it’s not really that shocking and that if I had of thought about all the things I would feel upon arrival back in my country, it very possibly could have popped up.
I think perhaps, the intensity of the want is what has taken me by my surprise.
Since I was 16, I have always had attention, at least one guy or the other who ‘loved me’ and I enjoyed that.
There are still ones out there that do. But the fact that I don’t love them back, has never felt more like a gap than it does now.
That is where the Special Attention comes into play.
The attention you get from someone that you have a crush on. That you like a bit more than a friend. That you woud cuddle with and not feel weird about it.
I cuddled with one of my best guy friends who I know likes me-always has- but unlike in previous cuddle times with him, it felt awkward and odd and very obvious to me that I did not want to be doing it.
Special Attention now becomes very select.
I try not to care about the ones I do like, that are slow to text back or are busy with other life things.
I feel more needy but I contain myself and refrain from acting like it. Which has never needed to be the case. I never cared whether I took 40 minutes to text back or 6.
For the first time I am afraid of the city I left.
The black concoction I swirled and mixed and added things to for years,
the drink I was never around long enough to take a sip of,
is now the very drink I must drink.
I am forcing myself to.
Because I am not going to find happines anywhere in life, if I am not happy with self.
The time period, the age I thrived in,left years ago.
And I am only now, figuring that out.
I’ve lifted my head up and realized that the only way I found ‘happy’ was by attention and distraction.
You can’t get that stuff when you’re holding a drink of black.