A Letter to an Irish Teacher That Went Slightly Askew
I often wonder if I lose touch with people so that I won't have to feel the bittersweet joy of conversing with them from afar.
Don't mind me, finals are simply messing with my head.
Finals and friends running off to be lovers, to be married, never to be parted, only to be parted from me.
Writing to an Irish teacher while listening to an Irish troubador, the melencholy is now characteristic of them both.
Listen closely, he has no happy songs.
Sad and haunting, they speak of misunderstandings, disbelief, confusion, love lost, love found with the wrong person because can't you see I am only using A because B left with C.
B could not see through C to see me.
No love, no glory, no hero in her skies.
I love those whom I love.
I take for granted those who are near.
I long for those who are far.
There is no winning, only pining in one direction or another.
Happiness visits only to bring her cousin full of bittersweet joy.
Is nothing left pure, unmixed?
Can we survive pure, unmixed?
posted by Andunneana @ 8:54 PM
4 Comments:
There are times, dear heart, that I envy your writing skills. You who always praise me for mine should be the one praised. I don't know what brought about this beautiful turn of phrase but it seems obvious that it haunts the hallways of your mind because you write about it often. All I can say for now is this. If good times and good friends were always with us how would we know them as good? They would be the norm. Instead, we know them for what they are because of their absense from us. And while it hurts know that if you are as dear to them as they to you then you are not alone in your loneliness.
(Oi! Smkrs!!! Keep in touch! You have something special here. Keep it alive. Keep in contact!)
Damien Rice and his unhappy sound; and yet I love it.
I'm soory about not being a great keeper-in-toucher :(
I should really strive to do better.
The only Irish teacher I can think of is our bald director. And I think he was from northern Ireland, which is a tad different... Were you meaning him?
And yes, we do miss you every bit as much as you miss us, if we are whom you are referring to. Hey, at least I got to see you in person recently, neh?
Here, now we've doomed ourselves to constant misery because, for a brief moment in time, we were immeasurably blessed. But alas, the moment cannot last. And, here we are scatter'd across this world of misery.
But as for me, I wouldn't have traded it for the world. All confusion and deception and disbelief; all the neglagence and inconsistency; all the melancholy unhappy. I wouldn't trade any of it.
Still, we are immeasureably blessed.
But I ought to partake of it in place of grumbling more often.
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