'Awkward? What does it mean?'
'I don't know.' she answered annoyed. 'If you want to know it, look it up. They have books called dictionaries in their house – and not just one.'
'Awkward. How do you spell it?'
'A-W-K-W-A-R-D.'
'Weird. It means weird.'
'Yeah, weird is a part of being awkward. But awkward is being more than weird.'
'No one said before to me I am awkward. That is weird. I felt actually I am quite normal.'
'Well, maybe they just have not told you.'
What a conversation. She was shaking her head. Well, maybe she was the awkward one. Everything you protect towards your outer world is some sort of a mirror of our own. Every single reaction tells us about what we are, who we are, what we believe in, what values we follow and what is important for us. If you are out of balance with your inner self, than it's quite normal that you might seem to be the awkward one amongst the normals.
Well at least he liked it, to be called awkward.
But he is clever and knows how to play the game. They have those normal talk going on between them and then there is other talk happening. Mostly she starts those sorts of talks subsequently of one of his actions. Than he is listening. She can see it in his eyes. He grasps what she is saying, like there is this common silent agreement of knowing.
For her it seems so often that he belongs to this place. He is the place and the place is him. It's all about her imagination. But can her mind seriously be so powerful? It can. She experienced it before. An experience she still suffers from and can't let go. An experience that she will never forget. She loves and hates it. The hate because the experience destroyed her. The love because the experience opened her mind. The hate because the experience closed her mind even more. There are two different stages of being. The being of the now, where you fully are. The being of the moment, where you might life but not are. It is a dangerous trap.
Than there are those other talks, when she listens to him. That doesn't happen very often but time to time he hits the nail on the top. 'Don't take it to serious, what you do.' 'So that was the first time yourself?' 'I am listening to you, when you are talking to me.'
The memories came back. How often they both were talking about the inability of the human race to listen. They were so open with each other. Gosh, what all had happened. Her imaginations were playing bad jokes with her. When you loose your instinct you are lost. You are blind. Your eyes are blind. Your mind is blind. Your heart is blind. You are lost. You can't even trust yourself – anymore.
She should let go. She can't. It was her home. It was her whole life. Now she feels restless. Waisting her time. Kind of. If she would let one of her imaginations break through. She could be happy again. All imaginations are just possibilities. All moments of pure life. You can take them or you can let them pass. Jumping on the train – jumping of the train. At the moment there are just too many trains in her mind station. It drives her crazy. The only thing she wants is silence for her mind – and such a talkative person like Jeanne is makes the mind peace difficult.
'I guess I can leave now. You don't need me anymore,' he just said out of the blue yesterday and came up with those excuses about she being safe because of his arrival. Well, why does he says something like that.