<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d5285808\x26blogName\x3dworlds+upon+words\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://takingavalonapart.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://takingavalonapart.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d3571675512915588525', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Remember H? He was the one that got away. If you have followed me since the birth of worlds upon words in 2003, he was the reason why this blog exists. H and I were made for each other, but just not meant to be.


I haven't been reading your blogs for awhile. Maybe that is why I hardly write as much, apart from anhedonia in general. But today, I came across a blog that cut me between flesh and bone - because the writer reminded me of H.

So closely.

I paste paint sketches on the wall. Back in 2001, H pasted cutouts of his photographs on the wall. We have a taste for the abstract. This writer I came across today, his pictures are like those cutouts. He writes the way I do, like a male version of avalon. I wish I never read him now, because it hurts too much to meet someone's inner albeit online world that resonates so deeply with your past, your loves, you.

And it is so obvious, that he has taken the role of one or another mentioned in the poem above.

I am sorry if I don't read you, before or anymore. Sometimes, it hurts to read you. Maybe it hurts you to read me too, and I am sorry for that.

To the writer I read today: put your hat on and walk into the sunset, away. But know that while you may never meet her again, years on, in a different city or in your neighbourhood, it really doesn't matter. Walk, stop, be someone, meet many someones. You are absolutely beautiful - already.