All that is me.

Whilst clearing out my mums old house this weekend, I found this gorgeous piece of writing that I had written down when I was 17. I have no idea where I copied it from, I sure as hell know I didn't create it myself, but I'm so glad I found it. It is absolutely beautiful.

" All you accuse me of is right but you don't understand it. Sometime I will try and tell you. I respect your unrequited search after what is real and true, more than anything. When I did fall in love with you I didn't recognise it because it was a new feeling, I hope I never gave the impression your feelings were a burden on me? Now I look back on it, this was not so, they were the most real and joyful part of my existence.
Sometimes on the most desolate occasions they relapsed into a wild gaiety when, late at night, the house would be filled with your laughter and your exotic untamed unwary chants, poetry brimmed from your lips and your vibrations filled the house with life. My heart woke up your fantasies, your dreams, your uncaptured soul.
No your feelings were not a burden on me. The burden was myself, my thick fears, and heavy cluttered mind, my apathy, my rigidness, my lack of courage, because with strength, I could have been the woman you and I had wanted, and taken you in my arms and held you.
And as for happiness - I know what happiness is - I have experienced it. Everything glows and a faint smell of warmth comes off the grass and trees and suddenly I'm there and not up in some tiny corner of my mind. But you see, I'm incapacitated, I can't take it and I never have been able too. I remember when I was four years old, all the other children on a hot summers afternoon, going across the lawn to the pool and I had an earache, I was lying in my room with the curtains drawn, the sun against them, they were yellow and had bee's on them. Enough light came in for me to see my arms hanging heavy over the bed and watch my fingers sweep and dangle against the floor whilst in the distance I heard the merry shouts of children play. And sometimes a tiny ray of sun would push between the curtains and if I was lucky, it might fall somewhere on the bed, on me."