heartache

We Shared

We shared laughs together.

We shared tears together.

We shared similar interests together.

We shared food together.

We shared fear together.

We shared smiles together.

We shared pictures together.

We shared hate together.

We shared thoughts together.

We shared hugs and kisses together.

We shared ideas together.

We shared knowledge together.

We shared our different pasts together.

We shared moments together.

We shared intimacy together.

We just shared.

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Confusing Happiness With Love?

I recently had an amazing experience with a guy. My first relationship ever. We had just gone on our third date together… and then he told me that he loved me…

Do I love him as much as he loves me? I repeated that I loved him back but I wonder if this is all going too fast… I have strong feelings for him, for sure, but I am wondering if I am just too insecure to tell him that I feel a little different.

I mean, I am the type that GROWS love for a person instead of just feel it right away.

I feel….

  • too inexperienced
  • too naive
  • too weak
  • too blind
  • too scared
  • too different
  • too worried
  • too scandalous
  • too confused
  • too nervous
  • too greedy
  • too selfish
  • too sensitive
  • too curious
  • too second-guessing
  • too horrible
  • too… loved… Is that a bad thing?

I am a wreck of emotions right now. I take time to think things over and I have thought it all over about what happened last night. What if we are different people hidden in a mask of googly-eyed love? He has already talked about marriage… I don’t want him proposing to me after a month… I need to take hold of the reigns here before it is too late…

-The Human Girl

 

P.S. What is it about me that makes him so into me? :/

Say: “Non Sequitur Relationship”

Talk to me.

Tell me something worth my time. Tell me that you know what love is. Say something that I can laugh at. Tell me that you know a different language. Tell me how to curse in that language. Tell me about your day. Tell me what bothered you. Say how you worry about me. Tell me what you think is right. Tell me what you think is wrong. Tell me that you are up for hypothetical situations. Tell me intimate details about your love life. Say that you like cuddling with me. Tell me details about your family. Tell me what you love and hate about the people you love. Tell me the last time you spoke to your mother. Tell me about the last book you read. Tell me about your sick pet. Tell me about what you think death is. Tell me about the last time you really cried. Tell me about your favorite fragrance. Tell me that you hate it when people are stupid. Say what you think of me. Tell me what kind of weather you enjoy. Tell me about your favorite foods. Say what you hate about me. Tell me about your opinions about being an adult. Tell me about your ambitions. Tell me about your secrets. Tell me about your bad habits. Say what makes you attracted to me. Tell me what kind of activities you do in your spare time. Say that you want to be with me. Say that you love me.

Now tell me that you are sick of talking to me.

When I Loved You

Graffiti in Westwood, CA

Graffiti in Westwood, CA

When I loved you, you were the reason my heart skipped beats. You were the reason why my mind was cloudy and illiterate. You were the only thing on my mind. You were the truth and the lies I told myself. When I loved you, it was like I could not make mistakes. When I loved you, wanting to be near you wasn’t an option for me. When I loved you, I asked you a billion questions because I wanted to memorize your existence into a permanent memory. But that was when I loved you.

Now, the love is faded. It has you reduced like a boiling pot of water. The heat will still be there, but the water has evaporated. A gaping, burning hole continues to form after the water vanishes. The smell of burning metal fills my house and there is nothing that can be done until I get the pot off the fire. Right now, I am still running that fire. I can only hope for the best. It’s funny how something so innocent as water started this mess, that unless you watch over it, it starts to grow wild and unsightly-even dangerous. The innocent water fades away. Retreats to the air. Exists in the house before escaping somewhere else.

There is evaporated love that still lingers in my lungs. It shadows itself in what-if scenarios and fantasies of a future that I wanted when we were still together. “Maybe he is the one. The type of guy to support my aspirations and my dreams. Maybe he will be a kind father for our kids- a real role-model. Maybe we will live in a house with neighbors who envy our constant love for one another. Maybe he will surprise me on how mature he becomes without sacrificing his sense of humor. Maybe we will be old together and have kids that love us back and think that we’re the greatest positive influence in their lives. Maybe we will continue to have adventures and surprises even when we can no longer walk.” Lovey thoughts like that. But also very valid to me at the time. It’s hard to realize that that is no longer the option. That the relationship ended and that there is no turning back. What was said was said. What was done was done. There is nothing that you owe each other. Certainly no future together.

In my dreamlike state of love and boiling water, I realize that I was dealing with a human being that was not me. I fear that we were not meant to be in many ways. Even from the beginning. We were either too similar or too different. But that is because I wanted to gauge the relationship first. Give it a chance. But too many chances were given. I was too nice. I was too forgiving. I was angry at you for making me feel this way. In the end, after so long, we decide to no longer be unhappy.

Some days I feel like the easy option is still to keep loving you. It is easier than hating or trying to forget you. Some days I feel like filling that pot of water again and perhaps watching it closer this time. And on the days that I am sane, I think about moving on and finding someone new to start loving.

My Labor

You are my labor.

My labor of love. My labor of hate. You are my labor of intellect and stupidity. You are my labor of new ideas and old ones. You are my labor that I carry around and show off to the world while trying to look put together. You are my labor that burdens me more than it seems to lift me. You are the labor that I want to impress, but never seem to look my way anymore. You are the labor of my soul before I realized that you really weren’t. You are the labor that I fight, carry, pull and push around. You are the labor I feel like I have mistreated, neglected and left for dead when in fact I just didn’t want to get hurt anymore. You defend yourself while I labor to guide the feelings away. You are the labor I never wanted to have but have been given.

You are the labor that will never read or reread this post.

I labored this for you. And I don’t think you know how much.