Today is one of those days that I am feeling a sad nostalgic romantic sense of "why"'. In the words of Candida Doyle & Jarvis Cocker, I sit here wondering..
What is this feeling called love?
Why me? Why you?
Why here? Why now?
Life is strange. You get up, do what you need to do and somehow it creates a private internal world between yourself and those you care to share it with. It sounds logical but also complicated.
What world have I created for myself?
I actually don't really know the answer to this. Can you answer this?
If I am totally honest, I think I have made some epic mistakes. I have probably also made some wise decisions along the way but for the most part, I think I mucked up the plan. Life was meant to be (in my imagination) a rich, deep, deliciously messy, whirlwind of chaos. I carry myself as if this might be the case but is it really just living in velveteen?
If self esteem is built on a sense of worth, which has been derived from a sense of purpose or achievement then yeah, I have had my challenges but I think I do ok. And purpose is the reason we all get up each day right? So where is the missing link and why can't I access it?
Where, what and why is the longing for the luscious velvet to wrap myself in?
Where a deepest love
exists in the richest shade
where an acute pain
exists in the masquerade
For it was velvet
that she dreamed of
And it was velvet
that she danced with
At night. A vivid darkness
Positioned in burgundy, mulberry,
pure and untouched
An unconditional sanctuary
