Medley

It’s purely self-defence: every part of you knows it’s been hurt, especially when you fall asleep crying. So you’re mechanical. You say what you need to, no more, no less. You hold onto things, cross your arms, lean back; they’re almost reflexes to keep you occupied, to excuse you from more contact that would make you feel more exposed. And you fidget. It’s so uncomfortable. But it keeps you from feeling the hurt that you couldn’t explain away yesterday, and the night before.

This vulnerability is not something that you understand, even if you think you do, so stop insisting that. Because we never were from the same playing field. All I can liken this to is that I’m feeling pretty blind at the moment and I’m staying where I know I’ll be okay because I don’t wanna fall. Sure, you can argue that love is making yourself vulnerable to someone else, but you can never stop the instinctive need to shield yourself.

Later I realised that I never finished what I meant to say today; I meant to tell you that you need to try, to slowly remind me again that you love me, because the hurt essentially fucked with my head, making me believe that what I thought I knew was all wrong. But you left again. And all I could think of was that I hate how easily you can walk away from it all, from me.

This is a jumbled mess of emotions and words and actions and intentions.

Don’t sing me more lies.

They tell you that love is all you need, and all those other happy, rainbow-coloured things designed to tug at your heartstrings but they happily omit the fact that love can make you feel so damn inadequate, so fucking stupid, so incredibly useless, so very hurt, and at the end of the day, you wonder why the hell they tell you that every person rightfully in love is grateful, happy and so wonderful that they seemingly walk on air. Because you’re not. You dully contemplate how much more pain there could possibly be, and wonder how long it’ll take you to wake up to scream. Why doesn’t he understand? How did I get here? When are we gonna stop fighting? And people wonder why I have a thing for sad, sad songs. Because they sing the truth, honey. Because they do.

Brainstorming the lazy way out.

I’m racking my head because the boy has passed me cooking duty for tomorrow night, and I’ve already made taken my favourite shortcut tonight: pasta.

ARGH!

And because I made dinner tonight, I feel fucking lazy. Like the kind of lazy that sits in front of her laptop with naughty Californication episodes, yes. Usually, I would make the effort to completely create the yowza effect (I lie; as long as it’s edible and no one feels sick, I usually thank God) but the item that entered my head and refuses to get out is packet sauce. Packet fricking sauce. As in the liquid $h!t (trying to self-censor and please don’t take me literally) they seal in funny, wobbly bags that can stand up in microwaves. I mean, they can’t be that bad. Stroganoff sounds awesome, rightrightright? FFS, just agree with me even if I have no clue what it actually means, how it tastes or looks or will turn out. It’s just the one I spotted online and thought, hey, Continental makes those! Don’t we all love Continental?

Orrrrr chicken schnitzels, because I saw my old housemate cooking them and they looked easy… I think. Well, she just greased the dish and tossed it in the oven with cheese on top, so I’m fairly sure that should be fine. =P Maybe fried noodles that are really 2-minute noodles, which wouldn’t be great because the boy has them way too often. Oven baked chips which should be easy enough, providing he doesn’t distract me and we end up burning the apartment. Rice and spinach something or other, GOSH. CAN’T WE JUST PICK UP A FRICKEN ROAST CHICKEN AND EAT IT?!

Hey… that’s not too bad an ideaaa!

There’s just no doing without.

I have seen this boy in so many different scenes. In one, he appears like an arrogant bastard who knows it all and isn’t afraid to tell it as he sees it. The next, he’s remarkably normal, fast asleep like dreams are all girls and sweets and booze, and hooked onto games that seem to form different, suspended worlds. He tells stories that make you want to hold him tighter and run away, all at the same time, confusing you to no end. You get frustrated, cry more than you used to, and you’ve never know more sadness and anger in your life. Yet when he reaches out to hold you, looks at you like no one else can, and takes you places that only you and him know where, understanding comes so simply – it’s just right. Nothing else can cut it.

But it’s the moments when he disappears that he takes clarity with him. It’s these moments when everything seems to turn black.

City girl

On the way to the Sydney airport for my flight back to Brisbane, my cousin asked, ‘So would you move here?’

Hahahahahahhah!

It’s no secret that I love big cities. I loved London, even if it was gloomy and cold and the wind was so strong that brollies were pretty much useless. Sydney kinda reminded me of it; the trains were so similar to the tube, I felt my wallet grow lighter and lighter just because I needed to eat (anything but universal fast food!), and the people didn’t have time to be polite or nice. Yet cities like these are vibrant, diverse, filled with wacky people and nooks and crannies with excellent tiny coffee joints that beg to be discovered. They’re boutiques, gorgeous men in well-fitting suits, women in the latest fashion catered for the office and sky-high heels, brilliant take-away Japanese food, and where Lindt cafes are nothing spectacular. Need I say more to profess my love for cities?

But me moving there isn’t an issue, really. It’s more of, would the place have me? Right?

That said, I did reply that I liked Melbourne more!

Boys are stupid.

Fucking hell.
Why do boys promise you the moon and the stars when they mean the stones and the grass?
Is it wrong that I don’t want a boy who acts like he isn’t with me at all?
I’d rather be alone.
Cause then I’d stop having to continually find the pieces to myself.
Don’t tell me you love me and turn around to do this.
My enemies have hurt me much less.
In the end, those three words are just words unless people actually show it.
Anyone could say it.
It isn’t as if we’ve never talked about this.
How could you have the cheek to tell me that it’s different this time around?
It’s not.
It’s exactly. the. same.
Yes, boys are stupid.
Don’t just throw rocks at them.
Find BOULDERS.

Lost.

On the steamed up windows, I wrote ‘gone’. It’s like we keep running in circles, trying to stay away from what only catches up inevitably. As I stepped out of the car, I wished you would grab my arm and tell me that… actually, I don’t know. Something that makes me think that you actually love me. That you want me. I still don’t know how you could say it all to my face without expecting some sort of reaction. Is this what I should learn to expect? Cause I don’t want to; I don’t want this from the person who I love and supposedly loves me back.

There are times when I don’t doubt that we’re right for each other, that we’re headed somewhere together; tonight isn’t one of them. I feel like I’m all alone in this right now, and I have no idea where to go from here.

How’d it go?

Frankly, if I gave myself time to really think about it, I might just not stop. So I push it aside like it’s not important, as if I’m not aware that it could all just crash down on me; it’s easier this way. For now.

I’ll keep my fingers crossed till then.