Tag Archives: less

55. and you wasn’t here and he was

once this was my safe haven.
that changed, like everything changes, life swirling us all about in a glass of rosé or champagne, or cheap white wine, if you’d rather.
and i notice that i’ve become agreeable, but no more than that. i’m still all here, all me.

and then on tuesday the rainbow of my life seemed to have been broken up into the component colours and merged together, forming black.
is black a colour? i don’t know. all i know is, i couldn’t possibly write on tuesday or wednesday. or yesterday even. but with time comes acceptance. so here i am now, accepting my failed anonymity.

Y has read my diary, this. every word, or most, violated with his eyes.
and i asked him not to.
i asked everyone close to me not to read it. everyone complied. but him.

i didn’t send a link. i didn’t tell him the name i assumed or the posts i’ve written. i merely read him a poem.
the last poem i had written here, trace of us.
i didn’t read it so he would find me. i never thought he would.
i read it because i felt like i needed to read it to someone and you wasn’t here. i read it because it was about him.

next thing i know, or rather remember, someone, and it could have been anyone but something tells me it was him, typed trace and put the cork essence of us blog into google.

he found me. 

he was the only person i read that poem to. the only one. and it can’t have possibly been anyone else. 
the search was done less than an hour after i read him the poem.

and though i didn’t start the blog for him or X or you even, i thought of deleting it or not writing any more.
but in the end, i haven’t started this blog for him so what if he reads it?

i haven’t started this blog for him and he won’t be the reason i end it.

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47. claiming the world

what does it feel like to claim and not be claimed?
i used to know.
i remember knowing, living for the memories. and recollections come and go, but it’s been close to never since that was me, claiming the world without giving anything back. and the gold thread of freedom trailed behind me, uscathed, untouched.
now, that thread, ulcerous tail, no longer golden, only appears when there’s a total eclipse of the heart.
it’s my firestarter, the shot signalling a race, a way of loving myself more by loving you less. 

and it’s nothing more than a joke – a special effect amidst an action movie; an actress screaming as ketchup flows from her imaginary wounds.
for you have become my all, mi vida, mi corazon.
you have claimed me, like france claims you again.

tonight, tomorrow, for days on end, you leave me here alone. no X, no Y, no admirers, no other loves. i cut those golden threads leaving only one.
my tarnished freedom. my back-up plan.

and i leave myslef vulnerable to you. to claim.

and maybe all i ever wanted was to be claimed, my rebellions just a show so that when the curtain call was done and i was in my dressing room, all alone, taking the make-up off my face, someone, anyone, would walk in and force me to my knees, making me love them without loving me back. 
and then, i would know what it was like to love a spy in the house of love. 
then, whatever i thought of them would be what the world thought of me and i would feel whatever the world felt after i claimed it.

and none of it would matter, because the world would still be mine.

40. chronic unhappiness

putting up with my chronic unhappiness must drive you mad, my love.
and though i want nothing more than for you to be happy always, sadness never near, as if you put a restraining order on it, don’t expect the same for me. truth is, i almost like being miserable. it’s like it’s my motivation to bring up every frustration at dinner time and know that very little of it really hurts me. 
so sweet to taste victory after proclaiming defeat. and when you start winning, you want more. you always want more.

noone ever died from wanting too much

and that could be the soundtrack to my life, it really could. 

the world is not enough
but it is such a perfect place to start, my love

but you don’t believe that do you?
you’re happy with the way we are, blissfully unaware of the way i hurt inside, thinking that you expect so much of me, the way every time i feel the burning need to give more and more, but seem able only to give less.

still, this is not the end.
i don’t believe there will be one, because i don’t want it to end. ever. but is that just me wanting too much again?

and right now i’m just not sure. yesterday hurt, if not you, then me. the conversation, the way you looked at me, the cold i felt eminating from the familiar warm mound of you on the bed there.
still, i’ll try to set the memories of our hurts alight, because really there aren’t that many. because i love you more than that.  

if we can’t have it all
then nobody will

but, my love, i’m afraid i can’t do a thing about my chronic unhapiness.
it’s become a part of me. just like you.

36. and jokes don’t count

we all want a fairytale, don’t we?
a prince, a castle, a fairy godmother and a happy ending.

us, girls, seem to be born with this idea that one day, a prince will find us. yes, he will definitely find us and sweep us off our feet. it’s not a collective motion either – my prince will not be her prince; if fact, her prince will be not much of a prince at all.
each girl will get her own version of perfection, but my perfection will be the perfection, is what we think.

you nearly asked me out this thursday. exactly two months since we first started on this journey, on this path to love and need and yearning.
it was the first of the month, the first of april – april fool’s day, no less – the and somehow it felt that if you asked me then, it’d be a joke. and jokes don’t count.
i couldn’t settle for the flawed perfection, non. it had to be my way or the highway. it always does.

so give me a fairytale, mon coeur. show me the the world through the rose-tinted glasses and whisk me off to the castle i’ve dreamed off since i was a little girl.

it’s easter after all.

it never ends!

Y tengo un corazon

and nothing more
and nothing less 

and though sometimes it may be trying
to own so little yet so much
i see a heartbeat in the chrome of your touch,
that ultramarine sky –
the cobalt in the silent high
and treasure the rhythm of the swelling blue
echoing through the vena cava of you

Y me gusta escuchar tu voz

 and you can barely give me more
and you daren’t give me less 

and life’s a blur of voices in my head
english broken
unspoken
and all your accents
´ˆ¸` ¨¨ ˆ¸ ¨ˆ`¸ ¨
swirl atop my clouded head

 and there’s one thing i never said –
i punctuate my life with
ands –
that way the deep blue in me –and you–  never ends

it never ends!

27. just raw emotion

your kisses covered me like rain and still i wanted more. more love, more of your deep breaths, more of your blue gaze on me.
i wanted more and less at the very same time.
you’re so cruel you say as i push away your hand and aren’t you nice as i dodge your lips playfully.
and yes, we play this game day neither of us knows much about, incentives always at the back of our minds: i hope one day i’ll fall in love and you – that one day i’ll be yours for sure, not just temporarily. 
and we justify it to each other.
and i can’t remember how but in the moment we do it so well. we convince each other. 
like we’ll always be together.

we’re like little kids still, stealing precious moments when there’s noone home.
dizzy spins and stops at every wrong turn (that just so happens to be right).
and then we part, you leaving hurriedly, your hair toussled, my small bites on your neck.

that’s our life. and it continues now that you’re back.
and there’s no romance in it, no sugar-coated words or sickly-sweet gestures. just raw emotion.

just the way i like it.

14. we all have dreams that won’t come true

so you’ve come back.
i’ve seen you with my own eyes today, the unruly curls of your hair falling on your face just slightly.
never a fan of curly hair, i don’t know why i’m meant to find you attractive. thought, you know, there is a delicate beauty in the sharpness of the contours of your face, the cheekbones protruding outwards, upwards, making a clean sweep. 

but you know, a concept of beauty was always alien to me. say what you will, but i can barely look at X and he’s your typical handsome guy, your typical ain’t-he-a-good-looking-boy. 

if i think about it, i’ve never seen a man who i could not find a bad feature in, physically or otherwise. 

i ask for too much.
i ask for the impossible. and oddly, sometimes i get it.

i told myself that this year i’d expect a little less. that i wouldn’t ask for what i can’t give back, but i now realise that was always the case. i never took without giving, no matter how little i was given. and yet, there was always just one thing i knew i’d never give wholly – myself. i could give a part of myself without a problem, but to give the whole of oneself – the dreams, the pain, the hopes and fears, the memories and future, the past and present… no, that i would not give.

i’m sure i could if i tried.
anything, with a little bit of determination and skill, is possible.

but i’m my own woman.
you wouldn’t want me if i wasn’t, so that’s ok. nor would Y or X or Z. the whole of my entourage seems to love me because i seem invincible.
you know that.
i know that. 
we both know that, really, you’re in love with an idea of an independent woman and i’m in love with the idea of a man making me dependent, tying me down in such a way that i don’t even know he’s doing it until it was too late.

we all have dreams.

we all have dreams that won’t come true.