It’s In The Water, Baby


It’s in the water, baby
It’s in the pills that pick you up
It’s in the water, baby
It’s in the special way we fuck

– “Post Blue” by Placebo

I’ve met several different individuals here, in this new town, that have caught my eye. As I meet more and more people, I find myself thinking about certain individuals more and more. It’s delightful getting to know so many. Especially that one girl in my philosophy class, two of them, I was almost disappointed when she wasn’t at the party I was on the weekend…  It’s also painful trying to reconcile that with the feelings and tears that came spilling out under the influence of a red wine veil on Saturday night to a new friend. Feelings that I am aware of, and have acknowledged… but to what extent? To what extent… to what extent do I accept the ‘not-meant-to-be’ and to what extent do I manifest action toward clarity… toward a person who I finally stopped holding back from just before I left home and subsequently threw me  down a black, bleak hole of despair…

Feelings for a good friend are hard to deal with. I feel like these feelings are especially potent because I’m on the other side of the world, yet so is she… just a mere 100km away. The knowledge is there that if we go on an adventure together, we will have to face this situation. It’s not one that can merely be ignored, to ignore it would mean a weekend of superficiality. I also love this girl so dearly as a friend, as a confident, and I don’t want to ruin that… but what if. What if she’s the one? What if she’s been the one all along? What if the stars aren’t aligned yet? What if they never will be? What if they are and I don’t act? What if they potentially could be later in the year when we are both back in our home town with all our nearest and dearest friends venturing overseas on their own adventures? What if…

The depth of emotion, the force of a waterfall, the unceasing tumultuous nature of a raging river… I feel like I am going through a washing machine, I’m on a spin cycle and have no idea when the end will be. Maybe I’ll be hung out to dry after. Maybe I’ll sit and form mould, maybe I’ll rot.

Read more:  Placebo – Post Blue Lyrics | MetroLyrics


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