unrequited

I know you don’t love me. I know you don’t think about what it would be like to trace your fingertips along the edge of my jaw or across my eyelids and on the inside of my knee.

I know that I think about you as sunlight and that you don’t think about me at all. I know it’s a one-sided kind of love, the kind where you don’t taste acid on your tongue when you see someone’s hand around my own.

I know you don’t love me. I know you don’t, but I can’t help the fact that I love you. I love you so much that I slur it in drunken hazes and think about it when I go to sleep. I wish I could press my love into every inch of your skin and bruise it into your heart so that it could beat to the sound of my love, but you’re too out of reach and I’m too hard to love. Please know that I love you more than I can begin to stand. Please let me know if one day you wake up and suddenly see me in a different way.

I know you don’t feel me in your bones, but if you ripped my chest open all you’d find is your smile and your eyes and your laugh in the inseam of my heart. You’ll find the love that I possess, and the bleeding cracks from the love that you don’t.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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light weight

I was never truly sure if I believed in God, because God stopped answering my prayers.  But when it comes to you, I forget about my agnostic heart, and I pray to god every day that you’re well and good. Because honestly, a person like you deserves so much goodness and I hope that God listens to me this time.

– fragments

temporary

You’re good at being cold in the same way love is good at being distant.
And you don’t know my freckles or the skin on the back of my fingers; you don’t even know about the scar on my foot, but you are something i think my heart has always wanted to handle.  Your love is cold in the way it is always distant, but when I love it always has to be down to the core.
I am whole-hearted in the way that I am always yours, but you wouldn’t know love if it hit you.  You can’t taste it in the space between us when we’re laying in the same fucking sheets, so I don’t know why I thought this would be different.
Maybe I just wanted to be whole-hearted, wanted to be yours for a while, wanted to love the skin of your fingers, wanted the warmth of your smile, wanted you to squeeze my heart into your fist just to see how well it fits, wanted to dig all the bad times out from under this arrow and ask you if your love is something I could maybe borrow.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

I did it once, I can do it again. 

I got my heart broken and I survived.
I failed 3 courses in university and graduated.
I got rejected in the very first job I applied for and got promoted later on.
I went through hard times with my family but then two years later, we laughed our hearts out over lunch.
The closest friends disappointed me several times, but I made new friends and loved them with all my heart.

Heal

“together we will create a home with no loud anger, no explosive rage, no slamming doors or breaking glass, no holes punched into the walls so hard that the foundation rocks and cracks. our home will be gentle, it will be warm. i will keep you safe and you will keep me still. no fear, no hurt, no worry. we come from broken and twisted places but together we will build something whole and safe. we will curl around each other like a pair of quotation marks at night, warm and comforted. in the mornings, you’ll sing in the shower again. we will heal, and we will raise a family that doesn’t need to heal.”

 

I had written a long rant about feminism and Barbie, about how much I hate today’s feminists because they no longer stand for what they once believed in, that their definition of equality is the systematic oppression of men and their rights, but I realise that will get in me a lot of trouble.  With the internet, with women, with.. everyone basically.
Anyway:
the other day, I got into this “argument” with a girl I use to be friends with.
I tweeted that girls need to stop using “feminism” as an excuse to post half naked selfies.  If you’re going to post a half naked selfie, just post the selfie and fucking own it, because honestly, you’re not posting it for feminism.
The girl became upset (I assume because she probably posts half naked selfies and goes on “feminist” rants.) and told me that since I’m going to be a social worker, I’m going to need to “stop bashing her on everything and reevaluate how I’m handling things.”
This really upset me, because this girl is going to school for social work as well.  This girl voted for Trump, had me help her write her papers, had me write her resume for her, and this girl is telling me how I need to be handling things?

I started crying, and G asked me what was wrong.  Instinctively I said nothing, and he called me a terrible liar.  I was upset over this, (the argument, not the liar part) and even though I had “won” this argument, it still made me believe that I’m going to be a terrible social worker and that I’m basically going to amount to nothing, because I already second guess myself daily.  For this Trump supporting feminist to tell me that I need to reevaluate how I do things, well, to me, that just solidified the fact that I’m a failure.

I was upset because at first, G didn’t say anything comforting.  He didn’t say anything at all.  He got ready for work as I thought about this conversation, trying to pick out all the things I did right, which was almost impossible.
He asked what I wanted, and I guess I wanted him to be on my side.  I wanted him to say something petty like, “for someone that’s telling you how to be a social worker, maybe she shouldn’t have “fuck” in every other sentence” or “i like that you said you didn’t need to explain yourself” or something. anything.
I also told him that I realise that guys don’t get into petty arguments over things like this, because guys just don’t.  (At least I don’t see that occurring, but maybe it’s a secret guy thing.)  As he’s leaving for work, I told him it was okay, because he probably didn’t know how to comfort me in this situation, and I think that may have hurt his feelings.

In this instance, I just wanted to talk to my mom and cry and drop out of school.  I wanted her to tell me that this fake feminist wasn’t shit and that the only reason she even made it this far in university is because I did her homework for her.  I don’t know what I really wanted, but I just wanted someone to be mean to this girl who had broken me down for the last time.
After G left for work and I headed home, I got a text from G saying:
“like Tywin Lannister said, “A lion doesn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.”

And I immediately started crying, again, because in the end, he knew exactly how to comfort me.  This single text was exactly what I needed, and this was honestly the longest round about way for me to get to my point:
I cannot explain how much I appreciate G, because he has helped me heal.  He has loved me despite my past, despite my flaws, my depression, my moods, my jealousy, my insecurities, everything.  Through it all, he has been supportive, and loving, and kind.
He has done more for me than I could ever thank him for, and I can only hope I have done half as much for him as he has for me.
He keeps me safe and still.

relation validation

Recently my older sister has acquired a boyfriend.
I’m extremely happy for her, because in previous years she has gotten on my nerves because I was the only sister she would talk to, so I would get annoyed with the constant texts and questioning of where I am.  I’m so happy she now has a boyfriend to talk to for 12 hours a day instead of me.
I’ve also noticed that I’ve become increasingly annoyed because she is in the “fan girling” stage of her relationship, and while that’s excellent for her, I’m questioning whether I’m annoyed or if I’m jealous.

I mean, I don’t think I’m jealous, because while I don’t fan girl, nor have I really ever fan girl-ed over G, I never felt the need to.  However, it’s small things that make me question my own relationship.  Are we really in a relationship if it’s not Facebook official? I mean, I don’t have Facebook, and I’m not about to get Facebook just so the internet can feel satisfied that another relationship has been validated by strangers that we never speak to.
I know in previous relationships I needed my boyfriend to post photos of us, I needed him to make me his #WCW, I needed all of that validation, because I was insecure and if he wasn’t posting about me, he didn’t care.

G has proven to me time and again, he isn’t huge on the whole social media relationship shit, and that’s fine.  He wouldn’t even have Facebook if it weren’t for his job using it for scheduling.  While we both have twitter and instagram, I find that we have very few photos together.  We have a few together from holidays, like Halloween and  Thanksgiving; and we have the occasional “let’s take a cute photo together” and he’s flipping me off. (which is fine, because there’s nothing he could do that would make me love him less.  Well, within reason. hah.)

Anyway, I found myself feeling down about this last night while waiting for G to come home from work because he doesn’t “like” my photos or text me sweet things, he doesn’t have my name in his twitter profile (which honestly I don’t really like anyway so that’s fine) and he doesn’t post photos of us.  This morning as he’s running his fingers through my hair and kissing my forehead, I realized that I don’t need validation from anyone or anything.  I don’t even necessarily need photos of us. (while I do like making them my phone background, it’s not a life or death requirement.  just another silly validation you’re forced to believe.)
What’s more is that these photos aren’t who I’m in a relationship with.
The internet isn’t the one who bought a lamp so I could read without having to turn on the overhead light and wake them up.
These photos aren’t the one who has a drawer full of random drinks in the fridge because I got a craving for Coca-Cola ONE time and now there’s always sprite and coke, and the blue gatorade that I love even though G likes blue powerade.
Those photos don’t scratch my head until I fall asleep.
The internet doesn’t sporadically glance over at me and say, “hey. i love you.” while we’re playing video games, or watching a movie, or while I’m making dinner.
Those photos don’t take me to a new brewing company for a date night, and those photos don’t pay for my ticket to the movie.  Those photos don’t taste test the stale chips when I ask them to, and they sure as hell don’t define whether my relationship is real or not.

So in the end, as much as I love taking photos and bragging about how great G is, I don’t need it.  I don’t need him to be this perfect instagram #relationshipgoals whatever because I don’t need the validation from the internet.  He is this wondrous human that holds my hair back when I throw up, keeps random drinks I might want in his fridge, scratches my head until I fall asleep, tells me how he missed me while we’re away working, and always tells me he loves me, even when he’s not saying anything.
The internet could never provide that for me, and that’s perfectly fine.  I don’t need it to, because G already does.

nostalgia

when you kiss it feels like love.
it always feels like love and suddenly, somebody is in love with your laugh and your eyes, the way you eat spaghetti, and the way your smile is always crooked.
They’re in love and maybe you’re someone who should be loved, someone who deserves it.

But then there’s the tidal wave after three years or one month or five months and fourteen days, when suddenly they look at you and your laugh isn’t anything special and the way your eyes line with laughter at the sides no longer does anything for them.

It’s falling and it’s screaming and then it’s “why the fuck did you say all those things in the first place?” And “oh god, oh my god”.
it’s becoming “the one they used to love” or at least you think, because well, you’re not really sure how they felt, not anymore.
but they had to have meant it, right? right?

It’s nostalgic, and addictive, and it’s your ripped up heart on the ground.
it’s remembering the way crooked smiles used to make them laugh, but now it makes them look away. 

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write