Maya (maya_spins) wrote,

Redundancy and necessity

I have five notebooks strewn about my house: one small lined notebook wherein go thoughts and somewhat-poetry and disjointed, impersonal musings; one large, expensive notebook that I bought in an indulgent mood and used to call my diary, which has more personal and less disjointed musings; one notebook that I covered at age fourteen in random words and wrote poetry in; one teeny tiny notebook wherein I record expenses, debts and day-to-day things like 'buy red pen' and 'make notes on electrophoresis'; one that I carry in my bag all the time, that for lack of a better word I call an organiser, although it's the most disorganised document I've ever seen. 

Then I feel the need to say things, and think I have nothing to say them to. *thunks self on the head* 

What I think I'm trying to say is that I tried to negate the need for this blog, and came back, somewhat sheepishly, because I love love love typing. *grins*

I want to be a pleasant memory. I want the thought of me to make people smile. I want to make people smile. I want the time that people spend with me to be good times -- they might not take much more from that than a warm feeling, but really a warm feeling is a good thing to want for people, isn't it? -- good times that will make them happy when they look at photographs. I want them to forget the times I was a pain, or I was immature, or just generally demonstrating how to thoroughly ruin a great day. 

But really? What I want most is not to be forgotten -- and I want to be remembered not for being fun or warm or smart, but just... just for how important you were to me when you knew me. I want to pull people into my little world, make them important to me, make their happiness and love and kindness and warmth and character quirks necessary to me, and then tell them every day how much they can mean to one person. 

I want to make people feel better about themselves just from knowing how much I love them.
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