The moment that the reverie breaks is a moment with no fanfare or parades. It’s just...a moment.
A moment of sudden recognition of my surroundings, opening my eyes like “wait, where am I?”
It’s a sad moment when the fantasy begins to wither.
The most disconcerting thing to me in all of these loops of infatuations and obsessions is how much farther my inclination to take things has become. How much stronger my desires grow and how the whispering voices corral together and throw words of warning and danger at me.
Words like “you can’t” are drowned out by the resounding chorus of “you want to.”
No, the most disconcerting thing is how hollow I feel sometimes. Like I know that I’m not being truthful at all, like I’m lying to myself by not admitting what it is that I want, what it is that I’m doing and most terrifyingly what it all means - and I’m lying with these silent omissions of what it is that I actually want and what I am really actually feeling right now.
But how to put it into words? I’m writing here in what is ostensibly an entirely private record and I can’t do it.
I can grasp the feelings and try to wrangle and pin them down but they just won’t let me translate them.
Like translation into words will only butcher what is essentially a pure and innocent feeling.
But it’s not innocent! It’s not innocent and it’s not pure, the way I dream of being overpowered, of having control taken from me, of being rendered helpless so that I can relax for once. So that I can enter the bliss of being free from responsibility and expectations.
I think I’m just tired.
Maybe I should just eat something.
Maybe I should just cut my hair.
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