let's calculate: 140 days in korea. fathomable? yes. enjoyable? not entirely. everything feels so nostalgic and it triggers the trauma i've inadvertently harbored all these years.
it's all on me, isn't it? i've made it what it is, the intolerable days that go by (a lot easier to stand now) and the social suicide i've committed (not as prevalent, but still). hm. i make for a miserable existence.
anyway, there is concern for me from others, especially about looking like i should be in the sense of my age and my intentions. i understand what's meant, but doing that here?? questionable beyond reason. it's not like i want that attention..all the time or here, for that matter. this sounds ridiculous déjà vu. if you care to backtrack, please do and tell me i've said everything already.
from my recent readings...and film viewings on the youtube i have concluded (at least for me) death to be a romanticized aspect of life while love...oh, this absent, seemingly easy ritual of being--it's illusory and elusive and malignant. It won't ever arrive, will it? that isn't what i meant to say, i merely forgot the realization i made before. yet. i know that deep down inside, even before i read pere goriot, i never showed my love. BALZAC!!! why did you have to solidify my suspicions? this runs deep; i may never display affection or admiration blatantly. i fear relationships parallel to my parents. this cannot be. i don't want it to ever be.
actions to take place: risks, good deeds, some form of whatever included in love's realm with someone i share an undeniable & star cross'd affinity with (yes, there needs to be attraction on at least three levels).
isn't this a silly trifle.