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minutiae (1)

 



“it’s okay”

“that’s alright”

I find her saying this quite a few times; and I wonder how many times and to how many people she has being saying this all her life. To people who somehow screwed her up.

You know what is ‘depression’?

Naah… not that ‘I’ll die’, hundred pills, sleeplessness, pessimism, hate. Depression is not when you are clearly sad, it’s something that is inside. Sometimes the person is happy, talking, sleeping, loving and still, you know, they don’t seem lively. I don’t know if that is depression but it is surely something next to it.

And she feels that. She feels this thing; ‘being absolutely fine and not okay’. I feel it that she feels this.

You heard about that half empty and half-filled theory? That pessimist sees it as half empty and optimistic sees it a half full. She is that kind of person to whom if I ask this question, she’ll give me a fifteen minutes long lecture on life philosophy and how we are grateful to have a glass and there is something in it. That how wonderful is the idea that it’s never always half empty or half full, it’s refillable.

Yeah, that girl is good at that. But then at times, when she is not in a good mood she’ll be like “just pour the water in the smallest glass and then it will be sooooooooooo much water that it will be full and even flow out, so just stop asking! ”

For me every time we talk casually or deeply; there’s a look in her eyes, the state in her mind that is something I was never sure of and I won’t be ever, I guess. Some 10 years later when I’ll meet her she’ll still look up to me with the same look and I ‘ll not be sure then too. Even though she says a lot to me, sometimes it feels she isn’t telling me anything even when she is telling everything and that scares me.

Because whatever she isn’t telling me, it can be good and it can be bad. I used ‘and’ not ‘or’. It can be good AND it can be bad. To be honest sometime it feels she has this never settling desire to associate her with all the suffering and pain. Every day she smiles she remembers the times she did not or whatever. Her immovable desire to be sad is what bothers me. I think she has read tragedies so often that she even fears to let her life be happy. What does not hurt is not life to her. But I know that what hurts will slowly eat her up. She does not tell me what she feels, but we talk and the little pain she gets from not telling me is what makes her feel she’s living. And I even fear the day she’ll tell me what she feels because that might be the last time I’ll see her before she’ll cut off to be in her pain.

I am myself caught a bit in this ugly situation right now. And I think the time you are sad or upset is not your helpless times but when you don’t even know what to feel exactly because one feeling makes you happy and the other makes you sad, that is pissy.

she does not say anything, i don’t ask her anything and I see, I imagine the day we'll have to see each other for the last  time, for a long time ; We will be left with 'I could have', 'I should have', 'I would have' and all that regrets. I won't say courage; but I feel still I don't have enough 'life' to make her happy or something. And you know what?

love or something, hate or whatever, happiness or anything. These 'something', 'whatever', 'anything’ are what she rarely, clearly tells me and these are some words that hide a whole different ''minutiae'‘.

 

Sincerely 

The 'He' 

                

 

 

 

 

 

 


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