Breaking it in...again.
A place I always come back to. Stepping into skin that doesn't exist. A name that has no meaning, even to me. At the moment I am being Layla, but only because I am typing in this location. In life, I am not Layla. I once thought I was - perhaps I was right, for a moment or two. But right now, I can barely remember who Layla was or why I became her. And I don't know that I want to. Remembering can be worthwhile, but it can also be a waste. Forward is so much better than reverse. Times that were empty aren't worth dwelling in. Acknowledging what made them empty is a good thing, I think, as well as figuring out why you wanted to believe that they weren't. The best thing about past is that, if you're lucky, it only happens once. And there I go again, babbling. So be it. It's what I do.I'm intact. My absence was due to lack of internet access, not to lack of life, as some would like to believe. I've lived more this year than I did last year, but it's been real life, not the sad form of living I was once accustomed to. I'm not the same girl, woman, person I was before. It's been more than a change, it's been absolute death followed by complete rebirth. But not really - rebirth alludes to repeat, it seems. Simply birth. New. Never before. Something different, better, seperate. And I like it.
Characters from that other time still surface now and again, and it is as if they never mattered to me, never were a part of anything I was at all connected with. As if they were fiction characters, never truly having existed yet still viewable through a pair of eyes. Mythical creatures. Paper dolls I once attached meaning to but now see as flat, lifeless, disposable, dull...or simply don't see as anything at all. An odd thing to say, but even odder to feel. Complete strangeness where there was once familiarity. Feelings can die. Sometimes only the memories of the feelings remain.
Nothing is as important as we want it to be. The only thing making it important is the choice we make to attach importance to it, a personal choice that has no meaning for anyone but the person who believes in it. My life is not important to anyone but myself and those few others who decide that it is. My life can cease to have any meaning at all if I decide to make it so. But I don't. I want it to matter, if only to myself. I can't explain why I want it to, I have no good reason other than because it's mine, it's what I have, and it's what I want to keep. I want to make it grand, even if my ideas of what is grand do not match anyone else's. I'm happy there's someone beside me who believes I matter. It makes it easier to believe it, myself. And I'm happy that he matters to me, and that I can show him that every day. Maybe our only reason is each other. But that's enough of a reason. It saves me when I start to drift or lose focus. I make myself matter so that he has someone in the world who sees that he matters. Having someone I care about has made all the difference in the world. I am convinced now that loving may be just as healing as being loved. Finding someone to care about at a time when you had stopped caring about everything, even yourself...it can rescue you from the ugliest of hells. Without something to love, what are we, really? Without loving, can we truly appreciate being loved? It goes the other way, too. Without having been loved, can we truly appreciate what our love does for others? Some people never love, and I wonder if that makes them unable to BE loved. Is it harder to love someone who's never loved anyone themselves? Furthermore, what in the fuck am I talking about? Nothing important. And so it ends.
Man that was lame.
posted by Layla/Jane (whichever you prefer) @ 9/17/2006 07:50:00 AM
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