Evol.

I have a theory: I think it’s easier to love the people who you know will never love you back, like celebrities or older men you see around, because they can’t hurt you on purpose. You can love them and give them your heart, but you do not trust them with it because you’re aware that they’ll probably break it. But you know that when you give your heart to them. When you they do break your heart, like when they kiss their celebrity girlfriend or hold hands with someone else, you can’t blame them, because they don’t even know they’re hurting you. It’s different from loving someone who loves you back. The piece of your heart that you give to them is breakable, yet you trust them not to break it. You trust them to protect it when someone else comes along to test its strength. And when you see them break your heart, it hurts so much more, because they know what they’re doing to you, and they do it anyway. How sad is that?

Nathaniel.

"You could love me if I knew how to lie," he writes in a note, words hastily scrawled on a piece of ripped out newspaper. His bags packed with his empty closets and his scent lingering a fading farewell. I collapse into the chair, his note shaking in my hands. I see him buying a ticket and boarding a train to the middle of nowhere, where I can't find him. Deserts and sparse shade trees. Mountains in barren wastelands. Despondent countenances and weary eyes.

The note still shaking in my hands, I don't cry. I simply find myself wishing for ignorance.

Nauseous Regrets.

I stepped into the room inhaling the remnants of your fading perfume. I looked for you in the empty corners. I painted your ghost on the cushions. I stood and listened to your silent whispers. I attempted to siphon your words from the memory of the wood, the space in a thought. I drew your gestures in the nonexistent breeze. Swift flutters of dust outline your memory. Half empty teacups and unsettled pillows scream of your presence. I held your breath close to my ear. The rising and falling cadences of your voice played notes across my skin. Your empty smile, your hollow eyes, I closed my eyes and saw you there, clear as my fingers before me. I waited. Fearing that you would appear, hoping that these memories would be all that I had -I waited.

edited for sarah k.

f men. f them to the hell they came from.

f society for setting all these rules: he opens the door. he proposes. he pays. he's macho. he's your hero. false... he's a douche. that's what he f-ing is. these rules just reduce women to waiting, hopeful idiots. you wait, and primp and wait and primp and wait. you wait for the one. then you wait for the one that opens doors, that gets on his knees, that proposes, that sweeps you off your feet and melts your heart with a smile- you start to think, if i were just skinnier, if my hair lay just so, if my skin glittered like butter, if my eyes shone like the moon, if i ran longer on the treadmill, if i fit a size 2, if i withstand the pain of the heels. if i look at him at the right moment, if i bat my lashes. if i grow my lashes. if i smiled, if i read and laughed and was the most entertaining in the room, he will come. and you wait just like that.

but you'll wait forever. because statistics, good old mathematics is not on your side. the percentage of men who fit the expectations pumped into us by society, is in fact very small. in my mind it is 0.3%.

mr. darcy doesn't exist.

and you know why? because miss austen, poor, old jaded miss austen is another me. she is a dreamer, someone who doesn't find love and then imagines the best kind, and then makes it into a person- this one man who encompasses all good in the world. in my case, it was sirius black. if austen had truly fallen in love, her stories would have taken a different turn, probably to the likes of a heathcliff and catherine story.

lesson: the heroine and the rich, smart, fedora wearing, cigarette smoking, cool-line spouting man never get together in reality.

and so, to all of you. i bid you a bad evening and a head full of nightmares.

Friends, Foes? Love, Lust?

So funny story.
I was told today that I don't practise what I preach.
True story, haha.
No but for real, about a 3 months ago tharindu and clementine asked me how I pro advise but my own "love life" as we like to call it, runs down the sewage.
At the time, I honestly didn't have an answer.
I knew its obviously cause I just didnt follow the shit I tell all you people, now I realize though its because in any relationship, power lies in the hand of the person who cares less (that's a quote I stole by the way).
I never had the upper hand. It was always me bending over for him. Me breaking my rules.
I guess love makes you stupid like that.
We all know what we SHOULD do, what is RIGHT, how we SHOULD BE TREATED, what we DESERVE, we just choose not to, in fear we might loose our "better half".
So we insist on being puppets.
That's just the way it is.
We can't help it.
Yes finally, revelation hits! Lol .Oh well.

I find it hard to swallow that strangers make me happier than friends
The minute you let someone into your life
Like a hurricane they destroy and conquer
Its not too much to ask for love unconditionally
But thats only for family not friends apparently
Now I know there are bigots thinking ''maybe you have the wrong friends''
Sadly friendship has got to a point where getting hurt is a norm
And if you dont feel that hurt then you have a stranger in your life
Which might not be so bad if you are also a stranger to them
Telling eachother nice words in passing

A friend as described by the english
is a person who you trust and care about
not someone you just say hi too or have drinks with
not your sex partner or your drug dealer
the paradigm of humanity is in its need to put on a facade

so much goes down the gutters in the souls of people
oh let me say what i want because its who i am, i am blunt
no you moron you are self centered and will never find real happiness
acting like a player, douche and slut is not the way to never get hurt
its the way to cause pain in the life of others
and when they express their dismay dont call them ''dramatic'' or ''emotional'
'because you flushed your emotions away in the dark abyss of your life
doesnt mean I want to be sucked in with you
do what I want because I dont owe you an explanation
its different if you tell me what I do wrong
but seating on a horse and expecting me to read minds
after you blatantly formulate a plan to rid me from your life
because I decided to ''care'' a little more than you

BURN in the HELL of your greed
Chained to the crutches of your insecurity
Remember. What goes around comes back around

loves,
x