Please Forgive Me If I Act A Little Strange

"For I know not what I do." - David Gray

Before I sat down I was happy. Before I turned the mac on I was happily excited. Before I logged into my mailbox I was happy to wait. When I saw a mail from Valencia, I smiled a happy smile that lasted until the end of  his words. 

There were lots of happiness before, right?

But then my lips relaxed a bit. And my eyes went in. The music even... it didn't make me sway. He wrote something that made me understand that I wasn't just fine with how things were. It's so stupid. And I get disappointed in myself. That's even more stupid. 

So how were things?

Were? 

Are.

How things are?

I might be spoiled. But I'm not used to being turned down. I'm not just talking about men. I get any job I apply to, get popular among most people, get a nice place to live in when I need it and the nice roomies even drive across the fucking country to pick me and my stuff up. When I want to be a singer and play with skilled, interesting musicians in Denmark (or even Spain), well, that's what I get. It seems I'm the only one stopping myself. 

So when this great guy hasn't directly turned me down in words (but I'm not so stupid I don't get the picture, though), some time passes without us being in touch, then... I begin the hoping. 

Hope is naïve. Is dismissing the uncomfortable parts. Simply deleting stuff. Some reality bits. 

I'm not in love. I just love to be loved. It's pretty normal, I think? 

I'm writing this because it's stupid. Because if I do - there is a chance that he will read it and that's not good. And because I only write honestly. Showing somebody my weakness is doomed to make me stop hoping. I'm done looking good for now. 

I was hoping, okay? I didn't know. But I realised I was. Thanks for the wake up call. Once and again.

Rebecca