27/07/2009
© ffffound.
While I feel I have friends that share my same likes and dislikes (how ridiculously obvious of me), I seem to miss the people that understand my affinity for simple things.
I like to feel sleepy next to glaring stoplights and have philosophical conversations that mean nothing. I like collecting things in jars, pressed flowers, and foggy windows. I like somber days, and I like sunny days. I don’t always like the concept of moving and missing out on things that are sitting still. I enjoy train tracks, but I have a fear of riding in them; I like old buildings and new skyscrapers, but I like abandoned and decrepit warehouses better. Conversations are nice, but I like comfortable silence better. Endless fields with grass up to my shoulders feel more like home than the city.
I have been way too preoccupied with the concept of strangers, theories, and anthropology.
My friends are amazing, and I love them all. Sometimes losing them is awfully profound and sad and wonderful all at once. But I need another me, but who’s less like me and more like them. Does that make sense? Probably not. It’s not about needing a significant other or being arrogant enough to want two of me, but I want another soul like mine that’s inhabiting another body somewhere, and I hope to meet them one day, if at all.
Text posted at 16:52
