{ will you? }

will you still love me

when i'm no longer young and beautiful?

will you still love me

when i have nothing but my aching soul?

i know you will...

{ lana del rey }

ever since i heard this song in "the great gatsby" sitting next to my favorite mme., it's haunted my mind and floated past my lips unbidden more times than i can count. i haven't cared to toss myself onto the LDR bandwagon, not because i don't like her, but because i'm wary of bandwagons. the thing is --- her voice in this song! it's so mournful and yet so strong. the words themselves are so full of uncertainty and hope...they speak plainly to me of the paradoxical courage and fear of falling in love. i can't get enough.

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i've been questioning everything lately, wondering what's really real. i wrote to a friend last night and found myself asking, "am i really a writer? what is a writer? do i decide if i'm a writer, or is it up to other people?"

i often work myself into dizzying spirals of questions: what's with the alphabet anyway? who decided that the drawn symbol "A" produces the sound that we think it does? do we trust that person? how did he/she come up with that? and if it was just up to one person to arbitrarily construct our entire written and spoken language, what does it all even mean? it means words, sounds, communication --- they all mean nothing. oh god, nothing means anything.

it's like my brain is tracing every bloodline of the world, searching for the original source of everything, wondering what can be trusted. it has to burrow down to the center of the earth to lay hands on the most elemental version of truth.

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i'm not a writer, i'm just an avid journaler.
i'm not a cook, i'm just a diligent chopper.
i'm not a woman; i'm not espoused and i have no children.
i just have physical female traits.

see? everything and anything can be broken down.
they're closely related, but what we are and what we do are not the same thing.

further, further, and further toward the center of this earth i go.
i'm not sure i like or understand what i'm finding.
but it's either truth, or nothing at all.

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will you still love me when i'm no longer beautiful?