"Arranging words in a certain way so they become... magic."
"A poet of eccentricities."
Olivia Dresher
I read Tweets more than I write...
They can help me understand what I feel, what I sometimes didn't realise was there.
I use their words to find what I need to see.
These are some of
@OliviaDresher's Tweeted words, strung into a stream of my own making...
:::
The hell of seeing/feeling but not speaking.
::
When profound feelings prevent functioning.
When profound feelings chase self into quicksand.
When profound feelings burn one up and down.
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When expressing and not expressing end up being the same thing, eventually.
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No matter how much I confess or express, everything still stays deep inside,
a secret.
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The soothing sound of what I can't hear.
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The universe doesn't talk to me.
But I hear it snoring and screaming.
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I never take words for granted, or actions, or feelings, or anything.
Therefore, I never rest.
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To think, to question, to search... a simple recipe for loneliness.
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A loner, but a lover.
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Once he touched her heart all the way, in a way no one ever has, how natural it was to break it.
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Some things one never gets over or recovers from.
This isn't a deliberate holding-on.
(If something reaches in, all the way, that's it)
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I can't imagine what I would be now, if I had never met you.
I didn't just taste your essence and words, I swallowed them.
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What feels good doesn't teach.
Only what feels bad does.
What feels good, though, helps one endure the bad.
(The meaning of "help me"...)
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When everything feels wrong
(the feeling of a desert),
there's a longing for just one tiny thing to feel right
(one drop of water).
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Longing, a way of honoring the impossible.
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She wanted to give herself to him in the same way that she gave herself to herself.
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She loved the contrast of together/alone, together/alone.
It was the always-together or always-alone that broke her.
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To feel intimacy you have to also be willing to feel pain.
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Not knowing what you're feeling is worse than not knowing what you're doing.
I wish I knew, without asking, without feeling more pain.
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It goes way, way back.
Every feeling.
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I can't stop.
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If you live from your heart, you truly never will grow up... for better or worse.
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Learning the lessons of love, the hardest lessons to learn.
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Lessons to unlearn and then learn again.
And then throw it all out the window, learning be gone.
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She lost everything intangible that meant the most to her.
Now what's left is to give away the tangibles.
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The preservationist, alone, not knowing what to do with all she carefully preserved.
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The turning points...
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The shock of finding myself here, over and over again.
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Not only the shock of no longer being wanted in the present, but the realization that there was never any true wanting in the past, either.
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Every time I try to accept the truth, I feel horribly seasick.
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My mind is made for truth, but my body resists it.
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When sensitivities begin to feel like curses...
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Enduring the terrible is a full-time job.
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This is where she writes about the shattered pieces of her foundation, and the whole piece of her essence.
:::
