I am an introvert, which means that I make selective connections and put myself in certain social situations but not others and choose a lifestyle where I have just a handful of very solid bonds with the people who matter to me. (Clarification: it doesn't mean that we are necessarily socially awkward or shy (which I am, teehee)--it is a matter of where energy is derived, inside or out.)
Yet I often live vicariously by means of words or pictures through the lives of girls who are skinny and beautiful and popular and decked out with pretty shoes / clothes / friends, who are the life of the party and whom everyone wants to be around, and especially those who are intelligent and witty and articulate on top of all that ... and while I know that is not me and I know that I don't really desire to be something other than who I am, I wonder sometimes why it cannot be me and what I am missing and why I have to be missing those little things. Don't you wonder too?
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Evelyn
I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross / to reach you. For I am in love with you / and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.
Carol Ann Duffy
When I grow up, I'd like to be a cream puff. A cream puff with apricots, or even a plain one. Lukewarm at the bakery. In the window.
Jeux d'enfants
No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Samuel Beckett