It's raining right now, light misting rain soaking into everything, looking like dew when it lands. It's beautiful, yes - dawn is creeping up on the land, somewhere behind the clouds, and everything is the silvergrey hue that only a rain-soaked morning can really produce. Too bright for afternoon, too early for sunset, too quiet for mid-morning, only dawn and the whisper of sleepy dampfeathered birds and the hush of slow-moving traffic on a lonely country road...

...remember me to one who lives there...

I've been watching an odd foreign film, and yes, I know they sometimes do odd things to my mood and that this is likely one of those times. Gods... I can't understand how anyone can look at the world and keep smiling, though. I don't GET it. It hurts so much, it's full of so much shit and corruption and confusion and lies and hurting and violence... even the beauty is tainted. How can people not see that?

...he once was a true love of mine...

Of course, I wonder too how they can NOT see what beauty there is... bruises and blood and rainswept landscapes, the taste of tears in your mouth and the sting of a freshly-opened wound, that achingly empty, hurting look in the eyes of someone who--- but that's mine, my little moment of perfection, and I'll hold it tight to myself. Those eyes... gods, those eyes, so perfect. I have a few memories that have not faded yet, a few that I pray will never fade, that bit so deep I can't let go of them even when I want to.

Go here, please... read the lyrics, the original lyrics for Scarborough Fair. Read.

Impossible tasks, indeed... there's never a love, never a friendship, never a partnership, that doesn't sometimes ask the impossible. It hurts to be asked, and it hurts when you fail, and even when you're comforted and forgiven, or justified and apologised to, still it burns, the sort of pain that you can't ever forget or erase. Little things, sometimes... promises you can't quite keep, dates you forget, that time you said that thing to you-know-who. Aching. You wish you'd been better. You wish your mate/partner/friend/lover had been better. You wish it had been different. And it doesn't matter, it doesn't change.

Impossible tasks.

Caleb called me tonight, while I was asleep in bed, trying to dream away Monday entirely. Called, and comforted, and let me rest. Impossible tasks... and yet you can't help hoping, and sometimes it happens, sometimes it's ok.

Kadin is, likely, curled up at the side of his bed, a little scrap of red braided nylon around his throat, asleep. Dreaming, maybe. Alone, at the moment, empty. Impossible dreams, and still he seeks sleep each night.

I think, right now, I hate the world.

"Bittersweet, you taste defeat"... I don't know what that's from. Maybe it's something I wrote. Maybe it's a song lyric I heard. Maybe it's a scrap of someone else's musings. All I know is that it is playing in my head, an odd, sweet child's voice repeating it until I want to claw at my ears.

Want.

Need.

Gods, but I am sick of looking at those words... we all have wants, we all have needs, but for a little while, please, can I NOT? Can I just be completely content with what I have and what I am and what I see and hear and feel? Can I find satisfaction simply in existing?

*curls up tightly*

Random ranting at 7:00 in the morning, when I should be either sound asleep or out playing in the rain.