diary
I found your diary underneath the tree, while I waited for you. It was odd to find it there and then, but it was strangely comforting. You always had such neat handwriting. Your 'S's had always looked cramped up. "Our Story," its cover said. I didn't know what it meant to find your diary there, but I started to read it.
I remember holding your diary in my hand, and how small it seemed. The air was still, with barely a breeze whispering within the treetop. It was unusually warm for a late September afternoon; yet the familiar smells of autumn hadn't faded. The bark of the tree felt faintly warm, and crisp scents drifted in from the nearby woods. Cracking open your diary, I began to read.
Your words surprised me. I never would have guessed what you felt, I never could see what you felt in those eyes of yours; I never could get close to you. You were aloof, detached, unemotional, yet I never could get enough of you. I don't know why, and I don't really care about the why now. You never seemed to care, with your disconcerting air, your distant reactions, your dissonant rapport with me. I thought you loved. I thought you did. I know I did.
I tried to give you all the things you wanted, all the things you fancied. There was never enough for me to give, but I tried. Oh, how I tried. I wanted you to smile, to laugh, to never have to hear the word 'no', to never fret or frown. Smile and laugh you did, 'no' or frown you did not. You seemed happy to me, but I could not know for sure. Your hands would wrap around mine, your arms would hold me, your lips would meet mine, but you were never truly there.
I never knew these things till I read your diary - the diary you left at the tree. The words struck me hard and fast, your confessions of love. It was for someone else, not me, and everything began to come together. Your reactions, your actions, your words. Your eyes. Comprehension slowly sank in.
Sitting in the shade of the tree, I started to rediscover you, the you that I'd never known. I turned over the page you wrote on last night, only to be confronted with the blankness of another. The emptiness of each page of your diary - our story - said it all.
I still wish for you the sweetest things you can find.
In case you're wondering: no, it's nothing. It really is just a story, nothing more or less. My inspiration? "Diary" by David Gates and Bread. I'm listening to Gold 90.5 FM on the Internet (my mother usurped my stereo), and the song sparked a story within me. I thought I would take a few liberties of my own and bastardize the song into some semblance of a story. So yes: here and now, I admit that the story above is not original with regards to the content. The writing is original though. I don't copy creative stuff from people. Not wholesale anyway... maybe the structure, a line or phrase, but that's about it. Everything else is my own. By the way, you should totally check out the lyrics. You'll see what I'm trying to say.
-------------
I've been thinking (what else is new) these days. I had a brief conversation with a friend earlier this evening/night/morning/time of day concerning said friend's relationship with another whom I don't know as well. (Convoluted, isn't it? I won't go into the details of the conversation and situation because I can't and shouldn't.) Said friend asked if I thought the reactions were horrible. It was hard for me to answer, because I've learnt that passing judgments on anything simply opens your words - and intentions - to misnterpretation. And goodness knows that I've been misinterpreted far too often for my liking these days. I was pressed for an answer (an opinion really - in the strict philosophical sense [I really mean epistemological]). Caveats declared and explained, I presented it as clearly as I could.
Nonetheless, it got me thinking. (I wonder what doesn't.) How much do our actions/non-actions/words/silence count for? Catch-22's aside, we often decide on a certain course of action and hope that it's the right one. Or we simply convince ourselves that yes, it is the right and only course of action. Or that though painful, this particular path ends with the least amount of pain. Utilitarians rejoice - the utilitarian calculator has finally proved itself in the heat of ethical combat.
How far can we go though? When the path we've chosen - be it in business, social relations, romantic hookups, academia - slowly deterioriates into a gravel-strewn dirt road instead of the paved highway, should we just get off at the next exit and stop? Or should we push on and simply abandon anything that falls off our cart?
I guess what I'm trying to say is, do we know when, and how much, is enough? Keeping your distance from a friend because you're seeking to protect your friend from yourself, or if you're protecting yourself; staying away because you're unsure; maintaining your aloofness and detachment because you're afraid of the unfamiliar territory you're venturing into - all paths, in my opinion. These paths, in fact all paths, are never easy ones to walk. If they were easy, we'll have no need for friends.
Keep your distance. Stay away. Be detached. All these... defenses simply do nothing but prolong and delay the aforementioned question.
So I say unto you, friend and (possibly faithful) reader (of my inane rantings): answer the question. Ask yourself if the path you've chosen provides the least pain or conversely, the most good, for yourself and the involved parties. If you think it does, that's all fine and dandy, but it ain't enough. You have to know that it does. And don't throw the certainty issue at me - that no one knows anything for sure, so we all have to risk a gamble - because it's lame and useless. The answer is in your mind, you just need to excise all other useless concepts and thoughts first.
Don't leave before you want to do so. Don't stay away because you have to, stay away because you want to. Be aloof only if you wish so, but not because you must. The 'ought' cannot be confused with the 'want', simply put.
Is she/he worth it - as a friend, lover, or business partner - for you to continue trundling down your chosen road, come gravel, potholes, oil slicks and glassy patches of black ice? If something falls off, stop to retrieve it. You'll never know if you'll need that tin of Danish butter cookies (now devoid of succulent buttery morsels), or that half-consumed tube of superglue, or that rubber washer.
The journey is just as important as the destination. Don't imitate the guy in the story, always pushing on, always looking but never seeing. Know thyself - that's good advice. It's "know", not "opine". And when you do, you'll know that the road you chose is the right one.
No empty diaries would be there to waylay you.
P.S.: In case you didn't figure it out by now... yes, the diary was empty all along, save the cover page. Go draw your own conclusions from it - fill the/my/our ('our' because we share a connection as writer-and-reader) diary with your experiences.
P.P.S.: I wrote the story with zero corrections and didn't rethink my sentences. So forgive me if it sucked. I don't always write shitty stories, you know. Just... well. :)
I remember holding your diary in my hand, and how small it seemed. The air was still, with barely a breeze whispering within the treetop. It was unusually warm for a late September afternoon; yet the familiar smells of autumn hadn't faded. The bark of the tree felt faintly warm, and crisp scents drifted in from the nearby woods. Cracking open your diary, I began to read.
Your words surprised me. I never would have guessed what you felt, I never could see what you felt in those eyes of yours; I never could get close to you. You were aloof, detached, unemotional, yet I never could get enough of you. I don't know why, and I don't really care about the why now. You never seemed to care, with your disconcerting air, your distant reactions, your dissonant rapport with me. I thought you loved. I thought you did. I know I did.
I tried to give you all the things you wanted, all the things you fancied. There was never enough for me to give, but I tried. Oh, how I tried. I wanted you to smile, to laugh, to never have to hear the word 'no', to never fret or frown. Smile and laugh you did, 'no' or frown you did not. You seemed happy to me, but I could not know for sure. Your hands would wrap around mine, your arms would hold me, your lips would meet mine, but you were never truly there.
I never knew these things till I read your diary - the diary you left at the tree. The words struck me hard and fast, your confessions of love. It was for someone else, not me, and everything began to come together. Your reactions, your actions, your words. Your eyes. Comprehension slowly sank in.
Sitting in the shade of the tree, I started to rediscover you, the you that I'd never known. I turned over the page you wrote on last night, only to be confronted with the blankness of another. The emptiness of each page of your diary - our story - said it all.
I still wish for you the sweetest things you can find.
- end -
-------------
In case you're wondering: no, it's nothing. It really is just a story, nothing more or less. My inspiration? "Diary" by David Gates and Bread. I'm listening to Gold 90.5 FM on the Internet (my mother usurped my stereo), and the song sparked a story within me. I thought I would take a few liberties of my own and bastardize the song into some semblance of a story. So yes: here and now, I admit that the story above is not original with regards to the content. The writing is original though. I don't copy creative stuff from people. Not wholesale anyway... maybe the structure, a line or phrase, but that's about it. Everything else is my own. By the way, you should totally check out the lyrics. You'll see what I'm trying to say.
-------------
I've been thinking (what else is new) these days. I had a brief conversation with a friend earlier this evening/night/morning/time of day concerning said friend's relationship with another whom I don't know as well. (Convoluted, isn't it? I won't go into the details of the conversation and situation because I can't and shouldn't.) Said friend asked if I thought the reactions were horrible. It was hard for me to answer, because I've learnt that passing judgments on anything simply opens your words - and intentions - to misnterpretation. And goodness knows that I've been misinterpreted far too often for my liking these days. I was pressed for an answer (an opinion really - in the strict philosophical sense [I really mean epistemological]). Caveats declared and explained, I presented it as clearly as I could.
Nonetheless, it got me thinking. (I wonder what doesn't.) How much do our actions/non-actions/words/silence count for? Catch-22's aside, we often decide on a certain course of action and hope that it's the right one. Or we simply convince ourselves that yes, it is the right and only course of action. Or that though painful, this particular path ends with the least amount of pain. Utilitarians rejoice - the utilitarian calculator has finally proved itself in the heat of ethical combat.
How far can we go though? When the path we've chosen - be it in business, social relations, romantic hookups, academia - slowly deterioriates into a gravel-strewn dirt road instead of the paved highway, should we just get off at the next exit and stop? Or should we push on and simply abandon anything that falls off our cart?
I guess what I'm trying to say is, do we know when, and how much, is enough? Keeping your distance from a friend because you're seeking to protect your friend from yourself, or if you're protecting yourself; staying away because you're unsure; maintaining your aloofness and detachment because you're afraid of the unfamiliar territory you're venturing into - all paths, in my opinion. These paths, in fact all paths, are never easy ones to walk. If they were easy, we'll have no need for friends.
Keep your distance. Stay away. Be detached. All these... defenses simply do nothing but prolong and delay the aforementioned question.
So I say unto you, friend and (possibly faithful) reader (of my inane rantings): answer the question. Ask yourself if the path you've chosen provides the least pain or conversely, the most good, for yourself and the involved parties. If you think it does, that's all fine and dandy, but it ain't enough. You have to know that it does. And don't throw the certainty issue at me - that no one knows anything for sure, so we all have to risk a gamble - because it's lame and useless. The answer is in your mind, you just need to excise all other useless concepts and thoughts first.
Don't leave before you want to do so. Don't stay away because you have to, stay away because you want to. Be aloof only if you wish so, but not because you must. The 'ought' cannot be confused with the 'want', simply put.
Is she/he worth it - as a friend, lover, or business partner - for you to continue trundling down your chosen road, come gravel, potholes, oil slicks and glassy patches of black ice? If something falls off, stop to retrieve it. You'll never know if you'll need that tin of Danish butter cookies (now devoid of succulent buttery morsels), or that half-consumed tube of superglue, or that rubber washer.
The journey is just as important as the destination. Don't imitate the guy in the story, always pushing on, always looking but never seeing. Know thyself - that's good advice. It's "know", not "opine". And when you do, you'll know that the road you chose is the right one.
No empty diaries would be there to waylay you.
P.S.: In case you didn't figure it out by now... yes, the diary was empty all along, save the cover page. Go draw your own conclusions from it - fill the/my/our ('our' because we share a connection as writer-and-reader) diary with your experiences.
P.P.S.: I wrote the story with zero corrections and didn't rethink my sentences. So forgive me if it sucked. I don't always write shitty stories, you know. Just... well. :)
NIGEL
5:15 AM
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