𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

“Jhst thinking...how nothing last.”

Sad and true. Yet, there's a small call of realism...and the ache of memories to always be saved. Until then...💋

𝐓𝐡𝐞 “𝐎𝐝𝐝” 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠—

I don't belong. I don't belong, belong. Do I not belong? Am I an alien? Do I not belong in this world?

Despite not asking the question, I gaze to the skies for answers. And yet, I wonder...what? Do I belong or am I meant to feel this? Feel what? This. This...being?

The intense chewing has bruised my lips, numbing my fingertips, causing my eyes to widen and my soul to awaken. Am I not bound to this life, to this experience, to this world that has been shoved upon me. Like compacted snowballs. Do I belong here?

I could walk the tightrope of mounting cathartics and pave a new way. I could even go down the path of death, and my mind has ever so carefully migrated to that area.

This strange feeling. These strange feelings. Odd feeling, this, be I, me, the feeling. Does anyone...anyone have answers? Do I belong here, there, anywhere? Am I needed, wanted, loved, or appreciated? Do I belong...?

Angelina Jolie photographed by Victoria Brynner, 1990

—Solo—

IV

The flickering sound of the candle echoing in the quiet room illuminated the small space. Casting shadows over all the hair and makeup products stacked upon the dressers. In a criss-crossed position, Angelina tilted her head back while the loose leaf paper in her lap slipped to the tile floor, like a water fall. The tile floor was cold against her bare legs. She had been in the position for quite a while now by her assumption.

It wasn't for any particular reason. There were no underlined secrets as to why she was hunkered down in her room. Dressed in the short cut red robe she had worn after her shower, her legs were becoming numb from the cold porcelain tiles- she figured it was time to get up.

This was Angelina's moment of complete dissociation. As she stood dragging more of the papers to the floor. Her thumb poised between her lips, the electric devices she owned were turned off. She desired seclusion and was in a deep trance. The past few work days—were duplications of days prior. Interviews, same questions, and the impending thoughts of what was next.

“What is next?” She said, as her teeth grazed the skin on her thumb.

She pondered the question out loud. And of course no one else but herself could hear it. But maybe the universe. Her darkened blue eyes followed the paper trail, her free hand tugging at the collar of her robe. “What else can I offer...?” she asked herself. The question was rightfully so to be asked. As Gia was becoming a distant, rather large, memory— Angelina found herself in the trance of where to next.

Upon the mountain of interviews and appearances is on late night talk shows, she was set to sit down with Bobbie Wygant. The woman was more than a reporter—more or so a staunch supporter of Angelina's father. Following his career. That thought alone created butterflies in the woman's stomach. Bending at the waist, Angelina picked up a page her eyes squinting in the dim light. ‘The Bone Collector’ was scribbled throughout the top of the page.

Lisa Rowe was still in effect, production being pushed back a couple of weeks and months or so. This next film, had an amazing cast. Denzel Washington was in it. Her eyes widened at the name.

The actor's cinematic range surpassed virtually every other actor's. Angelina found it to be rather fortunate to be part of this film. However, there was a bit that scared the thin movie star. The attempt to play such an intimidating role. Amelia Donaghy— had several different parallels from Gia, Lisa, almost every character she had done prior.

Padding across the floor in her room Angelina fingered her frazzled hair that was now a dirty blonde. Blonde with light brown highlights, if you looked closely. Angelina paced back and forth, before stopping to take out her open pack of Mallboro cigarettes. While doing so, she hesitated the thought of lighting one, and asked herself if she was strong enough to appear in this film?

Her manager, assistant, and friend Julia had continuously argued with her that if she didn't commit to this film— there was a strong chance that they wouldn't work together anymore. Angelina found it to be more or less an empty threat. Julia had said that about, ‘Gia’ and well...the movie was made. At least that's what Angelina remembered.

Lighting the cigarette, Angelina took a deep drag of nicotine. The pages of the script surrounded her feet. Her open journals tossed about as she stood here absorbed in thought. Her mind suddenly flashed to her mom. Miles and miles in Cambodia - on a journey of "self-discovery." Angelina just needed to hear her mother's hippie but... accurate advice.

Angelina's mother had always wanted to be an actress. And contrary to what people believed—her mother never forced acting upon Angelina or her brother James. Her mother had come to the rather fast conclusion that she wanted to be a dedicated mother. Devoting her time, energy, and life strictly to Angelina and her brother. But she never failed in telling her children, to always express themselves and to follow whatever passion they had.

When Angelina couldn't decide what to do, when she didn't want to be a ballerina anymore— the choice of mortician was no longer an option. She chose acting. And her mother was delighted. And the advice never changed.

“Go for everything that's in your reach. Discover who you are...with every opportunity.” Is what her mother would say. She'd say it, at the most random times...but that meant something.

Once more, Angelina expelled smoke from her lips and took another puff of her cigarette. She let that smoke go— easing from her lips slowly. Regaining her position on the cold floor, cigarette in her mouth, her eyes fixed on the scattered pages of her script, Angelina made the decisive decision. She could do this. Not just this film, but all things in life that she had crazed passions for. She could do this.

Do you sense that? She nervously questioned. Feeling what? Does the Earth sway? The stars assemble? Are there winds? I can sense it. Enjoy it? My favorite.

All the great authors, poets, and grim wordsmiths put their words on paper, to inquire, "Can I feel it?" Is the new galaxy putting me in difficult circumstances? Feel the conflicts between my left and right brain caused by who I am and who I will become.

Witness the manifestations in action. Is my optimistic side trying to kick my pessimistic side in the hopes? Sensed that.

Yes, I did feel that. Felt what? That. I could feel it! I experienced my two parts merging together to form my entire self.

Despite everything I am, I am not. I am capable of being anything. I won't for all that I do. I'll continue to do what I've done. It is both senseless and sensible. Knowing there is more to "me" than "me" is both magnificent and difficult. It is now and every day moving forward. It appears and then vanishes. It's changing—up it's and down. Change that is heartbreaking, breathtaking, infuriating, and hilarious. I blossom like a flower. similar to my philosophy. I rotate like the world.

@yung_pueblo

—Ostern'; Hasentag—

“Large conflicts make the world feel unmanageable and intangible to us. Nonetheless, there is a brilliant or dim light at the end of the tunnel. The mental tenacity that defines luminosity. If burned too brightly, it will burn out.”

Stepping onto her balcony was Angelina. Unaware that it had been some time since she last visited this specific plain. Also unfamiliar to her but ingrained in her consciousness. She let her delicate hands smooth away any potential rust by rubbing them against the shiny metal of the balcony railing. Standing, existing, and breathing in the air that around her felt almost strange. How brief life is, how it might be, yet how hospitable all the changes have been and will be.

Her blue eyes soaked up the sun's radiance, allowing the light to wash her. The brunette took off her silk top and leaned over the railing to get closer to the sun. Today was Easter, or rather, what Angelina jokingly mistook for "Bunny Day." As the gentle wind chilled her bones, the sun's heat seemed like dancing love coals on her face. What is there to do on a "Easter Sunday" that hasn't previously been done? It's safe to say that the stunning actress had penned a large number of poems, saved her work for her travels, and...had grown more aware of what she had missed. Missed in the absence sense. Her lips twisted into a half-smile as she thought back on the previous days.

“Ich bin verliebt in diese Saison … in das, was ich bin.” The German words, flowed freely from her mouth as she spoke to no one; just herself.

It was true. Angelina had developed a sense of who she was. Including all the complexities of existing, breathing, and loving. She was no longer just an actress. Much more, and it frequently made her afraid. She was now a writer for publications like TIMES, the Wall Street Journal, Global Traveler Inc., etc. But, she was now even closer to the love of her life, which made her giddy with happiness. Yet, Angelina had a strong urge to change with the season today.

Angelina found herself in the flower-filled garden before she knew what had happened. She had taken off her floral skirt and was now barefoot, only wearing her matching silk bra and underwear. Her skin blended with that earthy sensation and the alluring aroma of flowers, soil, and honeysuckle. The actress danced on the uncut, untrimmed grass and weeds, letting her hair blow in the wind. The exquisite flowers, with their open petals appearing to welcome her, gave her skin a slight tingle. The woman tipped her head back and giggled lowly, possibly in delirium, but with genuine ecstasy. It meant so much to her to stop, drop, and roll in this magnificent garden.

Throughout the house, Angelina had left her countless cameras, both used and unused. She looked up at the tempting sun with her legs crossed and her back close to the grass. Its rays are making her more endearing, complimenting her, and in Angelina's thinking, warming and praising her. Because there was no longer the mental pain of a conflict. Naturally, the pouty lip actress was aware that there would still be times when she would barely hang on and the need to lie in the garden would seem like an insurmountable obstacle. Not right now, though. Just her—no camera, no writing instruments. She, the flowers, the Planet, her thoughts, and this Easter Sunday's springtime.

Angelina would remain there, safe in the company of dandelion, rose, tulip, and other wild flowers—a garden of euphoric delight. Her hair was strewn across the grass, her eyes were innocently staring into the sun, and she was thinking only beautiful things. She would lie there on Easter Sunday and perhaps the following "Bunny Day" as well.

“...And if it burns out, it can always be re-lit. Be reignited, reconstructed by all and anything. No stipulation on time, no chain on creativity—and no stain on progress. Life is, in all ways, conflict and strife...but just enough love to make it a life.”

The hug became a cure. Not only a hug, but medicine. Not just medical treatment, but healing. More than healing, but needed. They never let go. Even when they are apart.

“When— Where can I find that?” She asked.

“Find what?”

“That.” She extended her arm pointing to the two people embracing.

“It’ll find you.” It answered.

Her arm sank back to her side. Her eyes were clouded with envious tears; maybe not so much envious tears as sadness. 'When will it find me?'

She hadn't asked out loud, but it heard her. “Be patient.” It answered.

And if I missed you more... bitte komm zurück.

whatever was left, that was ours for a while.

sunrise - louise glück

Franz Wright, from God's Silence; "Why Is the Winter Light"

[Text ID: Empty me of the bitterness and disappointment of being nothing but myself]