Just found a new band, name's julie. Alt sound is so appropriate for the dying of summer. Or should I say autumn's rebirth?
Wouldn't be a nostalgic summer waning if I didn't lose anyone this year, would it?
I don't want to go into detail, maybe for once I refrain from oversharing since I started these entries two days ago.
I kind of feel like reverse Vermeer. I remember our arts teacher pointing out the voayer perspective he often took in his paintings, placing our view just behind a curtain or a wall, peeping at the scene, which was often of a young woman. Then I watched a movie about him, about his painting The Girl with a Pearl Earring. Not a lot stayed with me, but this feeling of intimacy slowly unravelling, climaxing with him doing the portrait. Seems I remember life mostly through my conclusions, but that's a side note.
For me, Vermeer is this story of the slow approach to intimacy. Like the Fox advised to the Little Prince. I got to do the opposite.
My friendship with this girl came suddenly, bursted in my face, I was fascinated by this lovely animal, grateful it sits so calmly infront of me, lets me observe it. Only later I found her intensity raising my eyebrows, wondering... It usually doesn't go like this. Is there something wrong?
I forgot the occasion, but a couple of times we ended up reflecting on our friendship. The ammount of time we spent together, to be precise. She would smile widely, subtly melting from the feeling that we've been hanging out for almost a year. I would inspect it coldly, stating that without a year, I don't even have a proper notion of a person.
I managed to make her mad, to keep it short. Or disgusted. Mad with disgust. I won't inspect what made that happen here. The important part is, she banished me from her always messy apartment (the apartment here being an allusion to her life) which I loved in the same way I love every single unconventionaly beautiful, or ugly, thing.
I'm so happy I never told her what exactly is the name of my website, and for never going on a NeoCities fangirl rampage infont of her. If you know me, and you come across this website, you won't have much trouble putting the two and two together.
I came around to loving her. I developed a taste for her. But she made me afraid. I couldn't express myself to the full extent infront of her, and I'm not someone good at tuning and tweaking the relationships to fit me. If it's already a 95% fit, sure, but she wasn't. There were things I felt couldn't be worked around. I did want to try, but when she cut the line, it wasn't hard to accept. I was already hesitant about how our friendship would go on. So I'm glad she can't reach me. Not even from faraway would I like her burning me with words, burning me inside her mind.
I know where she writes, though. And I have a taste for her, I do have my love for her still. And that's the last stage of this reverse Vermeer that I am. I can be there, behind the curtain, peeping at my muse. Reveling each time I see her appreciating the little things. Finding those pieces of happiness. Or smirking when she goes off, because I know how much she loves to blow off steam. I'm a little bit selfish that I would use this one-way vessel, am I not? Don't worry, I don't do it too often. It gives me the shakeys, the rush, it feels like her words burn regardless. One day she might take a direct punch, when it all settles, she loves to write about the people she has and the people she lost.
I don't think she ever realised she was dancing on that verge of becoming my muse. It would be too deep to explore how and why, I'll just say that she was my Cathie, my Morphine, brought a piece of heaven every time, had me waking up with a black spot on my soul the next morning.