the last station.

surprisingly good movie.
although, while being a somewhat-educational and entertaining film, it hit a nerve in me.
which isn't saying much right now. but it's saying something.

maybe it's because i believe myself as a modern day masha.
she's sinned for poor reasons. she's attempted to redeem herself. and yet she can't be separated from her vice.
it's the most forgivable of them, i believe.
she loves.
and when she takes another into her bed, she doesn't see it as adultery.
it's simply a beautiful act of god.

yet while she repents for her past, she drags that same mud through to her future.
there is no way to be clean. not by their standards.
but is she, by hers?
and if so, am i, by mine?

if i have a fault, it's that of love.
i give it too freely.
i feel it too often.
i make it without hesitation.
i cannot find it in me to hold back the love i have for another, in whichever form it manifests itself.
i am a lover.

so why, then, does society scorn the very thing it praises so dearly?
why is it that i can't share my body- and my soul- with others without feeling some degree of shame? of regret? of fear?
truth be it, i don't seek that lifestyle. but nor do i seek this one.
all i want, all masha wants, is to find a love that is pure, a lover untainted, a life that is good. and simple.

simple.
simplicity was never my game...

...but should that stop me from playing?

perhaps.
i simply don't know.





maybe i'm just in love with james mcavoy. which isn't really a maybe.