Looking for One, Finding Another

by HelluvaGirl

I open my eyes and slowly return from a sticky dream. In moments like these, I feel like a sick person on meds sensing he's almost recovered - sleep is my drug, my sea. I can never get enough. Yet I take a look at the ceiling and it strikes me: I jump out of bed wearing my dress-turned-nightgown and dash to the living room. I inspect the bookshelf and, remembering it's not the right place, spring to the balcony where I keep a wardrobe-sized suitcase brought from Thailand, full of my old journals and sentimental souvenirs I hate too much to exhibit on shelves. I know it's there, my high-school notebook filled with historical slash emotional heritage of my teenage years: spiritual quotes; photos of Bjork and Boris Grebenshchikov; a Siauliai bus ticket with the scribbled names of my Second First Love and me - he left it to me, and it's still here. There are also numerous texts by me - might call them my first creative practices (though as far as I remember I've been writing a diary daily since I was 13). I would sign as Poppy or Witch, depending on the chronology: written pre or post my Second First Love. Sentences written by my Highschool Sweetheart; poems; dried flower petals; summaries from lessons at school; photos of Le Premier Homme; crossed out task lists; funny pictures I'd make of my Sister's photos, drawing her arms and legs of a yogi; letters and postcards, and quotes and photos of the Artschool Girlfriend whom I hurt deeply once (she was the one to bring me that notebook as a gift from France, as a matter of fact); there is a dream I wrote down about... an experience I'm yet to have in this reality, and the Woman I Love was present; and there are several quotes from the Book, one of which I need to translate right now. I'm running through old pages briskly, some of which are burnt with a lighter. I inevitably stop at my own inscriptions on love, loneliness, my purpose in life; on people I still cherish deep in my heart - they were present there, they had pens in their hands and wrote things into this notebook... It's hard for me to handle the emotional intensity this little old thing raises every time I touch it. But wait. You know what suddenly surprises me? I didn't lose these people. My Highschool Sweetheart calls me twice a year: on my Birthday and Christmas. Last year he had a son and missed Christmas. My world order was stirred - till his call this year on 10 May. With the Artschool Girlfriend we spent this New Years Eve together - she says I'm one of maybe 3 people she sees when visiting Lithuania every year. I see Le Premier Homme every time I visit my hometown, and we spend a fraction of a Sunday in a tea room talking and joking over ourselves and the rest of it. After decades of growing up, me and my Sister are close. I love her and miss her every day (come live closer, you little brat). I even get to see my Second First Love every several years accidentally on the street, strolling with his amazing girlfriend who is one of the few people I sincerely admire. We hug each other heartily and he says something like, We had to see someone fashionable today, so there, check. The Woman I Love... with our gaps of distance, I can still say she is one of my closest friends and the closest in the sense we both speak the language of the Book. Wow. I was looking for something else in my notebook and I found out this: important people live in other countries or cities but they are all present in my life after 10, 15, 30 years... Isn't it something? I found the quote. The fact I used maybe five different handwritings at the time didn't make it easier but it's here:
The fundament of Love is in Heaven; the fundament of ambition is on earth. When the earthly pursues to overrule the heavenly, it comes with a price. Love is above decency, family, material welfare, betrayal and everything else.
Now I can write about something I was meaning to for a while. It's a film, the setting of which is in Milan. And it's about Love. notebook.jpgFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmail
twitterpinteresttwitterpinterest