From Diary, 1997

Summary

The web content is an introspective diary entry from 1997, detailing a man's emotional turmoil, his longing for a lost love, and his struggle with dreams and reality.

Abstract

The diary entry, dated 1997, reveals the innermost thoughts of a man grappling with profound loneliness and the search for love. He describes his emotional state as akin to the tumultuous ocean, reflecting his feelings of being misunderstood and the pain of living with his own faults. Despite the despair, he clings to hope, symbolized by his use of the lighthouse as a signature in his work. The man confesses his fear of never experiencing love again and questions whether his dreams have ruined his life. He is inspired by an elderly woman's resilience in the face of loss and resolves to find love once more. The piece concludes with a list of Medium authors who have been tagged, indicating a community of writers and readers engaged with the author's reflections.

Opinions

The author feels deeply misunderstood and struggles with the dichotomy of being loved yet not truly seen for who he is.
He expresses a sense of futility in his hope for a reunion with a past love, acknowledging the unlikelihood of such an event.
The sea and the lighthouse serve as metaphors for the author's emotional state and his attempts to signal his distress to the world.
The author admits to using writing as an escape, creating a perfect world on the page that contrasts sharply with his reality.
He reflects on the destructive nature of dreams, suggesting they have caused him significant pain in his pursuit of an unattainable ideal.
There is a profound sense of loss and grief for the love he once had, coupled with a fear of living without experiencing such love again.
The author finds a glimmer of hope in the resilience of others, particularly an elderly woman who has endured the loss of her children.
He is determined to seek out new love, affirming his desire to give and receive love fully.
The inclusion of other authors at the end of the piece suggests a desire for connection and shared experience within the writing community.

Diary | Prose | Romance | Love | ILLUMINATION

From Diary, 1997

An entry that has become the source of so much written here on Medium.

One Day

The ocean crashes and tumbles ashore, angry, restless with itself. I know how the ocean feels. I don’t think any man has ever lived and been loved more but neither has this man been so misunderstood.

Hear me, see me, touch me even, but I’m not here. I may as well be dead but of course, I’m not. I’m just a man living with all a man’s faults and some extra besides. The lies: the circle of stories to make me feel better and less to blame. The insensitivity of living this way.

Sometimes I think I’m done, I’m over the idea that one day you’ll step from an Alitalia flight. So, instead, I write to a woman out there; a presence who understands me, wants to help me, love me, hold me, but she is not real, of course, she is not there, but still I write, hoping.

I’m drawn to the sea, not just in my life but in my work. I use the lighthouse as my signature, a beacon shining out periodically, sending out a signal of distress.

I’ve been walking against the chill, fighting my way along the shore and against the spray. I can’t believe how much I’ve seen.

Tonight, I sit with a glass of red wine, listening to Van Morrison and begin weeping. I so love to write, to somehow make my world perfect, to have the wind swirling round my feet and the autumn leaves turning brown as they fall.

I can do all these things on the page but who was it wrote you can dream but ‘not make dreams your master’.

And there’s the rub.

Is that why I’m lost? Dreams have ruined my life, broken it searching for perfection.

I become so afraid at times, so scared I’ll live without knowing love again, that some fateful corner was turned, and we missed each other because of a split second. Even now as I write I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes with grief at the thought.

My life is more than half done. I’ve learned so much except how to be in love once again. I spoke to an elderly woman today who lost two sons during the war, she told me, brightly, ‘I can’t be hurt anymore, I’ve lost all my own, there’s nothing can hurt me anymore.’

Tell me, is that it for me?

Do not judge me harshly if I say it is not.

I’m coming to find you, to save myself, to love you with everything I am and will ever be. So now, when I’m sat on the harbor wall in Tobermory, or sipping coffee alongside the Seine in Paris, my thoughts will be —

one day.

(If you dislike being tagged for various reasons, no offense will be taken, please let me know, I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen on my posts again. If, on the other hand, you’d grace me by allowing a tag, I’d be thrilled to add you.)

Diary | Prose | Romance | Love | ILLUMINATION

An entry that has become the source of so much written here on Medium.

About Me — Harry Hogg

There’s not much to know. I’ve been fortunate. Now I write.

Overweight With Love

Packing suitcases

Stuffing my Heart into a Shoe Box

Words are like machine gun bullets when love is broken

The Letter

A short story of friendship and tragedy

A Trip

Call it panic, alcohol induced, or a need to escape.