I stopped smoking. Well, almost. I try my best not to feel the urge of wanting to damage myself in some way, I’ve done it for so long I think of it as a habit rather than a way to have fun. Getting drunk and crying haven’t been on my plate for quite a while. To be specific, since January of this year; I don’t prioritise being drunk over being happy anymore… and some of you who know me understand that a sober moment for me is quite the challenge.
I’ve changed tremenduosly since I’ve first started writing, I’m not the same and somehow I resonate with the same desperation to feel something as I did at first. I feel like I’ve grown as the woman I am today, but still have the same hopelessness and desire to not be an outcast as I did when I was younger. I know I’m not much older than I was when I wrote my first article, however I’ve been shown that circumstances and people, as brief of a period they’ve been in your life, have a bigger impact in a month than solitude in a year could. Maybe it doesn’t make much sense to you as you don’t know me, but I know myself and all I’m trying to say is things and people change around you and, without knowing, you change around them.
Hopeless romantic, switching between reality and feelings, I’ve found yet another soul to pour mine in. Someone to hopefully call forever, has showed up to me in such a trivial way, an elecronic connection which tangled our intrests and went beyond the physical. I’m talking about a boy or, rather, a man with so much emotion, who touched me in more ways that I could’ve even fathomed to feel has made a leap for my heart, knowing the canyon that stands between me and love and still went to clutch me in his arms. It bothers me that he’s seen me at my worst, because the image I painted him as being myself is so perfect and yet so far from the truth. He likes me being happy, he loves the dimple that forms in the crevices of my left cheek, he giggles everytime I sneeze and thinks I’m pretty when I’m crying. I wish I could lie and say I can go on by myself, but I see him sitting on the edge of my bed and my only instinct is to embrace his head in betweeen my arms, him relaxing on my chest and me looking down at him wanting for the time to stop. I feel stronger about him than I do about myself and that makes me happy.
He gives me a purpose, he gives me a scene to play on with rather limited rules and instructions. His aim is to get me to break out of character, but you know me, I’m a great actress. I can fake the smile and the laugh, but the scene he desires is at the end of the play when the curtains drop before me and I, submissively, drop on my knees before him. I wish he could see himself through my eyes and be amazed as I am looking through his eyes, around the halo above his head. I connect with him in such way that I could be comfortable calling him either my husband, my lover or my friend. It’s easy…I wish you as a reader could feel how easy it is to love, there’s nothing bad about being in love. But it’s so scary, I understand, I was scared once.
I’m still scared, don’t get me wrong, all of this, all of him could be pulled or taken away from me in the blink of an eye, and what’s scarrier it’s that he makes it feel so safe. With this one man I can feel the power and the love of a million men. He loves me in a way that any woman deserves to be loved and I didn’t know that was even a thing. I’m jealous, so, so, jealous, of the women that had him before me, I’m jealous he didn’t know he wanted me then, I’m jealous he wasn’t there when I was embracing the arms of somebody else when it could’ve been him.
I’m working on borrowed time here, I can only write when I feel too much or nothing at all, so understand when I’m saying, I want to spend my life with him, I don’t have the time to lie about him. And I hope with all my heart he’s not another passing sunshine, I hope he’ll stay for this night and a thousand more to come. I pray every night he wants me when I don’t even want myself, I hope he misses me like I miss the rain when the sun has been unforgiving.
I miss him, I miss you. Even if at 10 in the morning you were covering me with the thin summer blanket this morning, I still want you to hold me back together when I’m going to bed tonight. However, you’re not here tonight and I’m forced to hide myself from the dark alone and faintly remember your lips on my forehead the previous night.
The way I miss you is like that short breeze of wind you feel when sitting behind the shadow of a tree on a sunny day. Like a sigh of relief when you’ve finished a work shift or smelling the familiar scent of a person you knew since you were young. The way I miss you feels like a bitter sweet goodbye at the airport or a kiss good morning. It’s such a little thing and yet makes such a big noise.