A Life Less Ordinary

It's so odd that I write to you again, though not in any email but again through my one way of open communication to the world. I don't really like to keep things private anymore it seems - everything's all in here - well, almost everything. I've left a lot of stuff out for protection - protecting others, that is, not so much myself. I find that writing you is so cathardic. I wonder why that is: is it because you're hundreds of miles away? Or that you may not read these for several months? Sometimes, I feel like I'm traveling with you - though I don't know exactly what you're seeing. I can close my eyes and feel the soft, but cool London rain falling upon my lips or the tips of my eyeslashes, it's beautifully intoxicating - it is for you?

Do you know - I deciced what I want most, it isn't love or normalcy or practicality or anything like that - I want intrigue. Yes, intrigue. Sounds like something a lot of people might want right? But I want it fully to consume me. Intrigue, I find, is something that keeps me from going, once I become accustomed to something, I tend to stray away from it. But intrigue will always keep me...well, intrigued.

Do you suppose that we pay the price for bad things we've done in life and not just after we've lived? I think we do, perhaps not all of us, but some. I think I have and I think I'm still continuing to do so. Do you feel that way about your own life? Have you ever? Now, don't get me wrong, I don't really think in any way that I am being punished or even "taught a lesson" by God - but I feel like something is wrong with my life...I keep feeling like I continue to create these problems in my life...but I am not exactly sure how to remedy them...what do you think?

*Always.
Caitlin

Wilted | Fresh

Sometimes those most worthy of love are not made happy by it. ~Dangeous Liaisons

It is on the strength of observation that one finds a way; so we must dig and delve unceasingly. ~Claude Monet 1840-1926

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