Bia Lombardi

"A woman may very well form a friendship with a man, but for this to endure, it must be assisted by a little physical antipathy." - Nietzche

AUTHOR: Bia Lombardi DATE: 9/06/2005 12:23:00 am ----- BODY:
In times like this, when I get home late at night and there's NO ONE here waiting for me, that I get terribly lonely. And it's an awful feeling like all of this is just a sad preview of my future life... I should consider getting a cat to do me some company. That is what I call being realistic for Christ sakes instead of "dreaming and hoping" for the guys who are NEVER going to look at me with "hungry eyes". At least it's not just ONE guy anymore who awakens in me the desire of love. The list has grown, yey! But they all remain "impossible". Or because it's complicated or 'cause, and clearly speaking, they don't give a damn about me. Why do I always like the wrong guys? It's not funny anymore. At least, I'm not laughing. But some one "up there" must be.... And the funniest thing is that, FINALLY, I don't need anyone to be happy. I'm perfectly fine by myself, independent, hanging out with my friends, amusing myself. And that's WHY I want (see, the correct word is WANT and not NEED) someone . It's a matter of choice. I choose not to be alone. 'Cause it's really sad to have all this good things happening with me and NO ONE to share it with. No eye to eye contact while making love. God, how I want to make IT looking deeply in the eyes of someone I choose to love and vice-versa. I wanna share, I wanna share my happiness by making someone happy. By making of a man the happiest one alive. I'm capable of that. Totally. Am I too complicated or what? But I get the feeling that I have accomplished making my point of view for you here. And if you people are sensible types, you've got the main idea... To WANT and not to NEED. To SHARE. To LOVE. But it's not loving anyone who appears to want me. I'm not desperate. Not at all. It's just loving someone I want, someone I desire. Having this person loving me back. The famous two way road. Not the dead end one. I'm not "playing" russian roullet with my love life. Not anymore. I'm too old for that...
"to young to hold on, but too old to just break free and run" - jeff buckley killing me softly with his song FROM HELL...
Scully, te dedico.

Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners Parading in a wake of sad relations As their shoes fill up with water And maybe I'm too young To keep good love from going wrong But tonight, you're on my mind so you never know Broken down and hungry for your love With no way to feed it Where are you tonight? Child, you know how much I need it. Too young to hold on And too old to just break free and run Sometimes a man gets carried away, When he feels like he should be having his fun Much too blind to see the damage he's done Sometimes a man must awake to find that, really, He has no-one... So I'll wait for you... And I'll burn Will I ever see your sweet return, Oh, will I ever learn? Oh, Lover, you should've come over Cause it's not too late. Lonely is the room the bed is made The open window lets the rain in Burning in the corner is the only one Who dreams he had you with him My body turns and yearns for a sleep That won't ever come It's never over, My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her... It's never over, All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter It's never over, she's the tear That hangs inside my soul forever Oh, but maybe I'm just too young to keep good love From going wrong Oh... lover you should've come over... Yes, (I) feel too young to hold on I'm much too old to break free and run Too deaf, dumb, and blind To see the damage I've done Sweet lover, you should've come over Oh, love I'm waiting for you Lover, you should've come over 'Cause it's not too late

FortheloveofGOD, if you have kazaa or something like it, download this goddamn song. Lover You Should've Come Over - Jeff Buckley. Do it for me... let's all feel miserable together.
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