When you hear the word 'despair', what comes to mind? Some might answer war, child soldiers, famine, corruption in government, ceaseless killing and death. Others might think of falling into a deep pit of debt, alcoholism, addiction to drugs, the long climb upward. Even more would probably think of love unrequited, hurt, heartbreak, unrealized desire.
For me, it'd be unrealized desire. I can read music and name certain intervals. I can play fragments of pieces I've practiced so much I've memorized them through repetition. I can feel emotions in music. I can want to immerse myself so wholly and completely in fantasy that I dream of glitter and sparkle and music and dancing and all those shiny, beautiful things like balls and gowns.
But that's not enough.
I want to actually be able to play an instrument well enough that I could lose myself in its melodies. I want to have a talent for poetry and writing so I could convey my thoughts and emotions in the most piercing way. I want to conjure up clothes that I've thought up so I could wear them. I want so much to be in that world of glitter and sparkle and whatnot, but I'm not.
I'm stuck in reality, where I'll probably fail my English exam tomorrow or I won't get the nineties I want so bad, but know I won't get. I can't escape from this place, where I don't have someone to tell all this to and understand.
The only way I can get some reprieve from this at all, is through books. Fortunately, I've got a library card at my disposal. Unfortunately, my mother has forbidden me from using it until the end of exams.
Somewhere along the way, I almost wish my thoughts could just be imprinted onto my blog without me having to pick which of them I want to say. Then again, if that actually happened, I probably wouldn't have friends.
