Love, Maybe - 3. Recovery

It’s the 21st of January 2010. 

This might not mean a thing to you but it represents a great deal to me, the first month of the year is almost over, the year that just started.

As more and more occupies my timeline I feel as though my days are slipping away, but in stealth mode.

And I’m single again, as it should have always been, I am hoping he is not under the impression that we are still together, to be honest, I might not have been totally clear, he touched on meeting my mother yesterday and I promptly shot that plane right down, it’s bad enough I introduced you to my grandparents, you want my mother as well?

I bloody well think not.

There are still emotional ties, but to some degree I’ve switched off and it will take time and a lot of work on his part for me to feel that way ever again. In fact I know I won’t ever go back to those blind in love days, if I really was in love in the first place.

I mean I’m 19 after all.

I never forget that.

When I get older I have no idea what I’m going to use as an escape route, we’ll have to find another plausible reason to protect myself from long term commitment.

-----

A Few Days Later .... 

So as suspected we have reached the pinnacle of our debauchery and our moral compass has become completely askew…it is the intentions of our heart that matter the most correct? It is not in my heart to hurt him but I must to keep myself happy, I do not set out to cause him pain, I simply do not have the courage to break free and so I have deviated and like so many of the others before my feelings for this man have been completely eradicated in a matter of a few simple and blissful minutes.

It was some bomb ass sex, that going all the way in to the core of my stomach while hitting my g spot and smacking my ass fucking sex. He’s really…cool…and it’s the perfect sort of relationship for me, low maintenance, little to absolutely no expectations, no planned ‘future’ ahead, just simple sex and brilliant conversation.

If only the whole world worked as such. I really like creatives and I think it’s the knowledge that this is not my first neither will it be my last really cool big dicked creative that keeps me floating so high above the tethers of emotional attachment.

Besides, I enjoy the single life immensely, I know it’s perhaps my age that instills such a need for emotional freedom inside of me, but I have to admit I like the effect I have on the opposite sex, I love the way he /looked at my ass when I was dancing, the way he watches me when I move or the way their hands go up and down my curves, it feeds my ego, makes me feel treasured and creates the best energy for me to carry on into my daily life. All the while maintaining my need for independence and solitude.

Therefore…I will always be single…even when I’m not.

 ------

A Few Weeks After That .... 

I have started working out, not the run for 3 days and do yoga once and forget about it working out, like an actual gym membership, 20 minute cardio 20 minute strength training working out. And I feel so bloody strange. My body feels heavy, I’ve been told I might need to detox from the marijuana but I do not see the point., okay not really along the lines of ‘do not see the point’ more of ‘tried to make me go to rehab and I said fuck no no no’ smell me? But I do actually feel the toxins, continued consumption of water, continued burning of fat and my system will be cleansed, it’ll just be me, my blood cells and my THC. I wonder where the THC will attempt to store in my body after all the fat is burnt off.

Haven't spoken to the previous love of my life since Valentines, I hope he thinks I cheated, I hope he knows, it’ll make my life a great deal easier.

It’s not that I dislike him, it's just that I don’t love him anymore, and since we weren’t friends before anything romantic was introduced into the relationship his absence in my life makes no plausible difference.

Quite sad actually. I went along with it, played the duet brilliantly, then smashed the entire fucking piano.

I fucked someone else. Fucked the living shit outta his ass. And would again, and again and again, I really do like him though. But it’s a strange sort of affection, it’s the sort that doesn’t really ask for much, the sort that is just content in existing, never pushes you to go out of your comfort zone, never rocks the boat, in fact encourages your need for independence but drives the need for good ass sex from someone of like mind.

That was a problem with my ex, can I say ex now?

We weren’t really of like mind.

He was not and never will be my 'Eternal'.

My eternal rides the waves of spiritual unity, my eternal is equipped with thousands of lessons, he is neither conceited nor weak, but instead humble in his knowledge of his power, of his direct lineage to the Gods of the Universe. My eternal is a fucking pothead, who probably grows eight different strands in his house in Amsterdam. My eternal is filled with the courage to climb a thousand volcanoes. My eternal is not illogical in his emotions, does not profess to know all there is to know about this conundrum of a planet, he instead cradles his steady belief with the knowledge that it may only be an option not absolute truth but believes it still. My eternal hates no man, and only pity’s the ignorant. He is strong.

And he is not Catholic.

Amen.

Love, Maybe - 2. Struggle.

January 13th 2010

Sitting outside of Rhapsody's enjoying the stillness for a moment. This whole 'in love' thing has me going a little mad..ordered a cosmopolitan & feel very chic right now ..... I'm so out of my element & I don't know what to do to regain equilibrium, my first instinct is to run but everyone is telling me not to, that he's perfect for me, so on & so forth but I just feel so strange.

My emotions are all jumbled especially after what happened this Christmas, especially after the side of him I had never seen before. That was a side I cannot say I loved very much.

He came to Rhapsody's.
He saw me, at the time trying to will away an unwanted suitor disturbing my peace. 
& walked by.
When I called him he cut my call.

So I quite promptly went to his place retrieved all my left overs & left all in the span of 7 minutes. He was home of course, but on the other side of the compound. I entered without his noticing. I broke up with him.

Via text as seems customary now.

I don't know what he's feeling, nor do I care. If I have to work to get you to express yourself then there's no point. That is such a bitch move you know? Such a pussy ass thing to do. He weakly tried to justify his behaviour saying that he didn't want to disturb my conversation with the stranger I very clearly wanted nothing to do with.

He's a fool.

I would never have just walked by him like that. I'm done anyway. No long ting man. He's gorgeous & all but I'm very young. Too young for something that serious.

Hiding behind my age numbs the pain for now a great deal.

I thank God for my youth & my opportunities. I thank God that I will survive. Next time I will fight every step of the way. Every kiss, every touch, any emotion will have to be earned.

I dated. I tried. Now I'm done.

I need to get away from this bloody city to clear my head & get him completely out of my system. I need sex .... actually .... I'm good on that one ... I just need to get the hell away from all this nonsense.

Lord give me the strength & set my mind at ease, none of us k ow what tomorrow might bring, only you...I accept whatever you have in store despite the drama that took place. Take my heart & heal me of all disease, both spiritual & mental. I pray for patience & I pray for serenity

My time will come.
This is not over.

------

18th January 2010 

 In the silence of my day I miss you the most.

Your silly little smile as you lay your head next to mine & your whispers of love against my skin sinks beneath my pores & distracts when silence falls around me.

I miss you.

In those little ways, but my fear overshadows it all. My fear of the power you have over me. My fear of the misery you could cause. I don't trust you not to hurt me with some flippant remark or a sentence of dismissal. I am completely out of my element with you.

Too fragile. Too soft. Too loving. Too kind. Too willing. Too blind.

The words you say can make my heart soar for days but when action comes you're nowhere to be found, the image is shattered & I'm left with the silence & the fear that everything I felt?

Everything you said?

May not have been real.

& in the silence of my day I decide that I never want to feel this way again.

------

I want someone to love me, to truely make a difference in my life, the first time I thought about leaving him I realised that I would do everything in my power to make myself want to stay.

I decided that I would try.
At all costs.

My pride took second row & he took first. Because I adored him & for a relationship to maintain a sense of equality the favour has to be returned. So why do I end up feeling so disposable? Why does it seem like I haven't made a single difference? It's like someone threw cold water on me & simply said;

"You were right"

It sucks being right, right now, it sucks so much.

I'm not hurt. There are no tears, I'm just ... surprised & incredibly sad. I loved him. Or atleast I think I did & even my youthful ignorant idea of love would go through almost anything for him ....

Why hasn't his done the same?

------

19th January 2010

I'm disgusted with myself for harbouring so much negative energy these past two days. How can I expect things to get better when my heart is so heavy?

I thank the Lord for the lesson that was this relationship, the first lesson of many concerning this field of study I expect. Of course the obvious measures must be taken to ensure that we get over the whole idea vey quickly & in the most profitable way possible.

So I've had my 'in love' sex, it was awesome.

Thank you Lord, I may not understand what happens around me but I know you have my best interest at heart. I will learn from all of this & grow even more with your guidance.

Bless my mouth, eyes & ears so that thy may see through the smoke of the wicked & light up all that surrounds me.

You are my fortress.
My God in whom I trust.
Thank you.

Love, Maybe - 1. Complications

Tonight on Twitter some hilarious men were going through their past heartbreaks, how they reacted, how it felt & as previously stated, it was fucking ridiculously funny, but all true & what I found beautiful about the open discussion was the willingness to be as honest as possible, a sentiment that only reflects growth of the best kind.

So I thought of my own previous pain & suddenly recalled just how much I had written during those volatile times & discovered a slew of brilliant phrased dissertations on the situation in question that I now deem fit enough to present on this platform as a series.

I wrote everyday, as I usually do when utterly emotional & I am thankful for this habit, it again enlightens me, it reflect how far I have come emotionally & how brilliant this balance feels in comparison to that struggling darkness.

I am a very interesting character to say the least.

The series is tentatively entitled 'Love, Maybe'.

I'll be switching from third person to first person at will, so keep that in mind as well.

 Feel free to share your thoughts.

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December 2010 

He was having a party.
He was honestly.
Having a party.

She walks up to the house, shades on despite the darkness around, already prepared to lie about whatever emotion this turn of events incited, completely ready to fake a smile even though she was incredibly unhappy and instead marvel at all the cars parked in his driveway.

Her resolve strengthened as she got closer to the noise and since her sunglasses were so dark she could barely tell which of the great tall masses belonged to her. But she did see O…but more importantly O’s weed .

As she placed one foot in front of another she realized that she had no idea what to say to him. She wasn’t sure which route she should take, left or right? Sad or angry? Happy even? Apologetic? Stubborn? Apathetic?

Which of the roads would lead her in the right direction? But as she took a step forward, inhaled the marijuana and took a good look at the ‘love of her life’ a kind of placid amusement engulfed her.

He was pressing some buttons on his phone instead of looking at her, the same phone she had been calling no less than an hour before.

The same call he had ignored.

Placid amusement was the perfect way to describe it. She took another puff and handed the spliff back to it’s owner, turned to walk away when he called to her. Fighting the urge to burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation she had placed herself in, she placated his request and moved closer to him.

Looking up at her with those contact lenses she now absolutely detested, he whispered.

“Are you alright?”

She smiled in return and said;

“I’m cool”

He was lucky there was weed. Very, very lucky.

She turned around and went inside the house to put her bags down, placing her heavy luggage on a chair in the living room, she stopped moving for a moment then picked up her laptop, unsure of what to do, what if she went into the room and all her shoes had been packed? What if he didn’t want here there anymore? What would she do to hurt him? What could she do?

Her phone rang, ‘Shake Zulu’ it read.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, you cool? You home?”

It was her boss, her mentor, her father calling to check on his money maker. She had just come from the office, and had spent most of the time during her fitting for the next days photo shoot pleading him for advice on what to do in her love life. She laughed a little and replied.

“Yeah, I’m cool, but get this. I pull up to the house, and he’s having a party”

There was silence for a spilt second.

“He’s a fucking tosser, he’s playing games man! Lose that! You know what? Enjoy that party yeah, eat as much as you can, drink as much as you can just have fun yeah? Let him think it’s all cool, then fucking leave…”

She laughed loudly at this rant, picked up her bag and transported it to his bedroom. Opening the door she fought back the laughter that threatened to come out at all the clothes that were neither hers or his, strewn across his bed.

He continued on, when she had cried on his shoulder he had been quite plain in saying that she was basically focusing her attention on things that didn’t really matter, her mind should be on work, on her art, on her talent as both a writer and a model, on things that would never make her feel this way.

He told her that she had to protect herself better than she was doing at the moment, told her that she was too valuable for this. She was an artist, he said, and she was wasting her time and attention on something that was making her unhappy and in turn destroying her art.

She had agreed of course, and she knew deep down that was where the fault lay, she hadn’t been able to write, she hadn’t been able to work, too much free time on her hands and nothing productive had come of it.. And that was how she managed to convince him to give her one of the companies Mac keyboards she was so deftly using at this present moment in time.

“So don’t feel bad yeah?”

He continued.

“He’s a European bloody tosser and you’re a goddess, bare mans will be coming after you soon you know? Everything happens for a reason alright? You know I got mad love for you sweetie, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

She nodded and whispered back.

“Bye Daddy”

-------

He had left, they’d had a conversation where he had played the wounded spoilt prince quite brilliantly, acting all injured and hurt as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had still left. Gone with his friends, even though they did need to speak, even though there was currently a huge gaping hole in their young relationship, he had still gone, because she would be there when he got back right?

That might’ve been the real reason she had left in the first place, to create some sort of urgency within him, some sort of need for her within him that she didn’t see anymore, he had become used to her, so he could leave and come back without a thought to where she would be. She’d become a tad too predictable.

After all she had taken time off, regardless of it being holidays at the office, she was still a model and could be busy every day of the week if she chose too, but she hadn’t chosen to she had chosen to spend it with him, to learn more about him, to love more about him but he hadn’t given her that time.

“He’s a fucking tosser”

As soon as the words had come out of her mouth the slow realization of how fruitless they were came upon her. If he was such a complete tosser, why was she still there? Was it premature to just say “Fuck it” and move on? But wasn’t she in love with him? Or in love with whoever he really was, this party him, this ‘we need to talk’ but still leaves for Twist him, wasn’t at all attractive, was there hope still? Or should she just leave?

She never liked hassle. She never liked trouble, and he was stressing her out. Whoever this nigga was, was stressing her out, and she didn’t like stress. And aside from the huge zit this had gotten her she didn’t see any plus signs or bonuses.

He had ignored her calls, cause he was having a party. A fucking party! It was always about his friends, some party, some venue, he hadn’t made the same sacrifice she had. And so when she told him she had to work the next day, the look of displeasure on his face felt very satisfactory.

And she wouldn’t share her art with him, right now she couldn’t, she didn’t trust him to betray her for one of his 19038940854936789526758965069854389475489 “close” friends.

It felt like she wasn’t dating just him anymore, it felt like she was dating the whole city of Accra. She never told people what she was doing or where she was going, or who she was with, but it seemed as though he was always answering the question.

She hoped to be the most important.

But she wasn’t.

At least that’s what it felt like. 

So she would take her time back, and fall back in love with her work. She adored him, she worshipped him, but her art never hurt her, or replaced her with another, and her art didn’t ignore her phone calls and throw fucking pool party’s instead.

Her art was eternal.

12/04/08 - Two Hits & He's Out

Another gem from the vault, I wrote this stunning piece of satire on the 4th of December 2008. Wasn't I a pleasant & happy child? It really just reflects on how much I've grown & changed over these years, this time machine is nothing but intriguing.

 -----------------------------------------------

 'Two Hits & He's Out' 

I haven't had sex in a minute...or 5. Okay...it feels like years but it's really only been a couple of months since the last round...I think...okay let's not get technical about this cause I have a tendency to forget these things but as I was saying. And I was thinking about it, in depth. Intellectually of course, it's gotten to the point where the very idea of the act disgusts me.

Think about it.

Physically, remove all mental capability from the equation, no one's in love, no one's horny, no one's lonely, no one's anything just basic sex. Kissing them? If you kiss them at all.

When you kiss them and they get all extra into it, they start breathing extremely hard, and put their whole body into it and you open your eyes and look at them with a "Wooooa this is not that serious" face, but they can't see it because their eye's are closed and they're "in" the moment.

Pfft. 'The Moment'.

There is passion, and then there's foolishness. I've been dealing with a lot of the latter lately. Clammy sweaty hands all over your body. Too soft. Too rough. Too there. Awkward. Uncomfortable. GET THE FUCK OFF ME. Fingers.

Don't get me started on the fingers. Trail down to your vagina (I'm going to be as blunt as possible so be warned) And 90% of the time miss the clitoris entirely, especially if they're doing outer underwear action.

Up it from 90% to straight 100%.

Awkwardly rubbing my fucking skin.

Skin, I just shaved.

I try to adjust myself and my body, even move their hands to the right position, but nooooo they 'got it', they're 'experienced'. Some idiots try and move my hands down south to their own little spots, to which they get the "Nigger please" face.

I'm not jacking anybody off, if that is not the definition of tedious and awkward I don't know what the fuck is. God gave you a hand for a reason, I don't see why you have to take mine. If I have to I grip it for a minute to do help with the calculations in my head.

Aside from all the idiocy this is normally where I get a little bit excited. Because in my mind this is where I am supposed to get the sex. But it hardly ever works out that way. 95% of the time foreplay is forced on me when I'm really not feeling it. And I hate having to reciprocate, nigger I did not ASK you to go down on me.

Don't stick your penis in my face and make me feel guilty.

And don't even think about asking for head if you haven't done the deed your damn self. I will (unfortunately) if you will...well that's not entirely true. In some cases, in most no. And speaking of going down, that whole situation as lovely as it feels is incredibly silly. Because a lot of the time, just like with the fingers, they lost it, and are just licking skin. And licking skin...doesn't really feel like anything, but I go along with it, and adjust my hips hoping to alleviate the problem.

When the diver comes up for the air is always once of the most traumatic experiences for me. I don't know why I dislike it so much. Maybe it's the way they look at me afterwards. A lot of them linger. And just stare at me. And try to wipe their mouths off all manly and shit. There is no way to be manly after you just spent 10-20 minutes on your knees, I almost always fight the urge to laugh around this time.

It's always a little bit too much for most.

A fucking waterfall.

 There have been various code names used to refer this. I.e.:

Thundercat, Bricks, Puddle etc. etc.

 So the deep see diver comes up for air to review his spoils. Most of the time they expect me to be out of breath, and rabid with passion and I never fail to act the part, most of the time I'm thinking "For gods sake just fuck me already, bloody hell!"

Then they move in to kiss me. Now a lot of females out there claim to not kiss a dude after he's been -insert whichever phrase you'd like to use to describe the act here- but that's completely ridiculous. Grow the hell up, it's your own fucking body. If you're not comfortable enough with it you shouldn't be having sex at all.

Move in to kiss me, and normally insert some silly little sexy whisper here like;

"God you're so sexy"
"You like that London?"
"Who's your daddy?" (Crack kills)
"You're amazing"
"You're so beautiful"

Yada, yada, yada. If you haven't picked on it already, I don't take sex at all seriously. And I normally just smile and laugh because I hate talking when I'm waiting for the grand finale. I hate talking in general, but I always seem to pick up the fucking yakkers. After the silly little whisper, the business hopefully goes down.

They back up and position themselves, I patiently wait, trying not to get annoyed as they slip and miss. Oops, hope he didn't catch the eye roll.

Oh there it's in.

Depending on the size, my gratification varies. If it's fucking monstrous, I just have to concentrate on it and ignore him entirely. I do that a lot. Ignore him I mean. I'm not interested in what he's doing, or what he's saying. I just need to feel it.

To feel like I'm still human.

Feel that warmth in the my stomach for those five brief seconds when it first goes in. Then the feelings gone, and I open my eyes, and there's this idiot on top of me. Time to put on a show. I squirm, I moan, I grip, I bite. I laugh, I gyrate my hips, I try and excite every single sense available. This is a performance after all, gotta get this done quick, get my grade & be out. Positions switch, and if the dude is man enough, I go on top.

A lot of the time with the newbies, they don't trust me on top. I'm overwhelming them enough as it is and they don't want to test their luck. On top? My best score ever. I like to turn around most of the time, so I'm not facing the victim, it makes things less complicated, and I find much more peaceful for me.

I can do whatever I want without that annoying sense of being watched. I hate sex stalkers. You know, when they stare at you faaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr too much during the act. God I'm not in love with you, quit that shit. On top. I have the most fun. Because I can always try something new. It's like I just got this new toy to play with, who has a thousand buttons and can make a thousands sounds each time you press one.

This is where I learn the most about the person I'm dealing with.

And this is normally where we finish. I like to exploit weaknesses, during sex. Especially when I'm on top...I like...winning. Because I never have an orgasm. I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible for me during sex. Trust me I've had enough of it to know.

So when their Air Force One takes off I feel like my mission has been accomplished and they can get the fuck out.

Reading over this, and thinking about it all over again. I don't even know why I had sex in the first place. I basically equate this bitch to a game of fucking Cluedo. It's a good thing I've quit. I wasn't helping anyone with that sort of behavior.

Especially not the girl friends.

02/27/09 - "Honesty" & 10/11/08 - Blazing

I wrote these two pieces more than 2 years ago now, on the 27th of February 2009 & the 11th of October 2008. I googled myself today & found my ARTST profile, along with these gems. This was all before I smoked. The seeds that these great oaks in my mind grew out of are all here. History, can be so beautiful at times.

That is only if you choose to learn from it.

----

'Honesty'

It's raining, hard. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

You ever think that maybe I'm not the crazy one but you're just the stupid one? A human being that has closed off all all other understandings and possibilities in this world/universe/dimension aside from his own limited one.

Ever entertain the idea that my ramblings aren't mad? But honest and blatant truth you fail to comprehend?

No?

That's why you're there and I'm here. That's why you'll die and I won't.

It's tough you know?

Being aware of all this bullshit but breathing it all in still, because after all, what other choice do I have? Until something better makes itself known I'm stuck on this planet with you.

Stuck in this world, created on another world.
Stuck in all this fallacy.

Ever look at a building and think about the fact that the earth, the land, and all the resources that went into making that building have come to us with no price for their services? That building could be free.

That building IS free.

But because of our own laws, rules and statutes we limit ourselves, and this earth. What right do we have to limit a fucking planet? What right do we have to push our useless laws onto anything else? What right did we have to make them?

I don't need a punishment to deter me from doing evil.

Whether jail was on the line or not, my ass won't kill shit. Ever think that it's all these laws that spawn even more of the evil we try so very hard to combat?

No?

That's why you're there and I'm here. That's why you'll die and I won't.

That's why I can sit here, stick up this finger, smile and say.

 Fuck you.

-----------------------------------------------------

'Blazing' 

I want to endure forever.

Past this life, I want to remember.
I want to remember this feeling.

Laying in the middle of my bedroom floor searching for something more in my heart.

In my head.

I want virtue, honestly, love and compassion.
From myself.

I want to be an example of truth. I want to be a true manifestation of his honesty.
I want to be walking with a clean spirit and mind.

My heart...my head put to rest.

I want to wake up in the morning and think not of man but instead of this universe. Of the stars, the suns, the planets, the future of it all.

I want to have the power to show you your mistakes. I want to help you realize more of yourself.

Because you are not real. You are not you.

You are only want you wish to be, not what he has made you.

Look the mirror. What do I see? Only what I choose to. I want to open my eyes wide enough to see what he has made. To see himself in my body, in this flesh, and perhaps see my very soul.

Perhaps finally understand the importance of my existence and then realize the futility of everything I have created for it.

Perhaps see the truth in how polluted I've become.

So when I close my eyes, and those bright colors accost me once more, my fear will have left me and I'll finally allow it to take over.

Finally understand what he meant for us in the end.

In the beginning.
In the next.

Did you know that I exist before the earth?
And did you know my eyes are windows to this world?

There is more than this. That much I know.

Everything you have created for yourself is bullshit. It is not real, it will not last, put no stock in it, have no faith in the collective works of humanity for no good will come of flesh.

Exist past this.
Transcend all.

Memories Continued

On the eve of a great discovery of peace on my part I always seem to fall back on the reigns on my elder journals to document the change & thank God for his deliverance from the general state of confusion that plagued my mind & ways in the previous & most important years of my development into the fledgling Queen that types today.

I hope you learn as much I have from these memories.

---

- July '09

I'm pretty sure there's something wrong inside my head and I can't fathom the idea that I'll feel like this for the rest of my life. 


- June '09

Okay, so let's scribble in the fundamentals here. I haven't written in so long, and as usual as a result of my complete lack of literary anything my life's gotten jumbled. And this is the only way to fix it.

So what do I want?

I'd like to be in love. This little sadistic ridiculously apathetic thing I have going on with him is getting all my wires fucked up. Because at some level I love him, I mean I HAVE to love him, but then...there's no book romance. It's just sex. And even the sex...is getting...not sexy. See there's this chick he's been "wining and dining" and it's thrown me so fucking far I have no idea how to grasp back on to the reigns. So we're going to sit here and we are going to ask WHY.

WHY do I still fuck him?

Clearly it's more than sex, I mean he's practically living here, completely contradicting my 72 hour rule, we talk, we laugh blah blah blah that's my...nigga? That I fuck. He's always been a little more than sex, I mean there has to be a reason I was never able to say no all those times we fought and made up.

He sits and talks of this perfect chick for him and it kinda depresses me thinking about how that chick isn't me. Not because I want to be that girl, or am in love with him it's one of those, if I don't find it with you who's to say I'll find it at all? Situation.

If I could fall in love with him my life would be so much simpler. But it's not working, there's like this road block in my head that seems to throw this huge dose of reality in my face every time I entertain the idea and the entire mental process leaves me feeling so bloody inadequate.

Maybe it's my pride.

My acute dissatisfaction.

Or maybe I'm just looking for an easy escape from this confusion.

Everything forms in a circle doesn't it? It's an endless cycle.

And it's such a tragedy.

How very fucking depressing.

I wanna be that chick you'd rather see smile, it'd be nice to feel that fluid again.

To feel that human.

I mean there aren't enough words to adequately describe this stark empty sensation in the pit of my stomach. I'd like a boyfriend, without actually having a boyfriend, and the very idea that even HE can't fulfil this need terrifies me. I'm a closet romantic, I like the cuddling, the kisses, the seduction the entire romantic set up he pulls out all the stops for the new girls, it's all part of the game to get them to fall....and I kinda just get seated high and dry.

I mean what exactly am I to you? Why do you fuck me?

Cause if it's just the sex, I think I need to know, so I can measure how fucking insane I'm going. But then you always say shit like "and you ain't trying to settle" pretending like I'm your ideal, and I'm not. I know I'm not. Her being here for so long seriously put a damper in my self perception. It half way helped, half way completely fucked up. It didn't help you were all over her, and I had just gotten off of my period so I was decidedly a lot more emotional than I should've been.

I wanted the kisses and the hugs, the meaningless affection would've helped me greatly, but again left out to sea.

So WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?

I feel like I don't know anything anymore.

I feel like I don't even know myself.

And I'm alienating everyone, my family, my friends, everyone apart from him. He's kind of like my life jacket right now, because if he wasn't here. I'd be doing some reckless shit.

I'm so tired of this hustle. This mental hustle. Why can't I be normal? Why can't I just fall in love with this boy and get that idealistic stupid hazy vision that makes everything sunshine and fucking butterflies?

Why can't we be normal?

Even if it's just for a night.

Fuck, and then...I don't know...cuddle maybe? My mate was so shocked when I said I'd never taken a shower with you and I just said "we're like an old married couple" do you know how terrible that is? Our relationship is so mechanical and we're not even DATING. Not even close.

Maybe I'm just going crazy but there's an undercurrent between us that seems to run crazy deep, and it seems like I'm not the only one with words that just won't get the fuck out of my head. Thought's I'd be too scared to share, cause it's him, any kind of sign alluding to any sort of emotion from Franki and the little bitch goes ghost.

For fucks sakes all I want is intimacy...with out actual fucking intimacy. It makes sense, I know it does, but he says he's not the cuddly cuddly type, just my fucking luck.

The only nigga to pass the 72 hour rule isn't a fucking cuddler.

Fucking. Tragic.

Moments lost in time - 2009

"And now...now I can't trust you, now I'm looking at you like I do all those other girls"

She didn't want to scowl, she didn't want to snarl, she didn't really want to do anything, in actually, she really just wanted to pack a bag and start walking. But she couldn't, she sighed as she looked at him, straight in the eyes as usual, hoping he'll see all the little fucked up clogs in her head and understand that this meant nothing to her.

There were a lot of words in her head that couldn't seem to make their way out of her mouth in regards to his last statement. He stood in front of her, a blunt to his lips, eyes darting all over the room and so chock full of disappointment. She knew this was her cue to apologize, and come up with some sort of excuse as the worldly script dictacted but she didn't find it possible.

What was she apologizing for?

Lying? She did that on purpose. Did she regret it? It wasn't enough of an issue to dwell upon. Everybody lies. He used to lie to her all the time. Back when, what were his words?, 'You ain't mean shit to me'

Back when it mattered most.

"Well we're in the same position then aren't we?"

She whispered. He paused, and looked at her incredulously.

"What have I done to make you not trust me?"

'Fucking existed'

She shook her head and turned away from his gaze. It wasn't worth it. Her life here was over, she was leaving, it didn't matter, the greatest fuck up had been achieved, so what on earth was all these little toils of bullshit to her now? She just wanted to laugh, was there anything wrong with that? Laugh at the idea that he thought she was that simple, and that fucking stupid.

Because if she wanted to fuck, she could've chosen anyone else in this city and he would've been none the wiser.

But none of it mattered now! She just didn't have the energy to argue or fight, to defend herself, to say anything really. It is what it is. Let him think whatever the fuck he wants.

Her life here was over.

Nothing mattered anymore.

18 year old Frankey.

Freaks me out every time.

I keep finding all these cool things.

7 vs 20.

Summer '09 (Atlanta)

Look what I found.

A present to my Mum when I was 3, I spelled both of our names wrong. Cute right?

History

Mr. Wesley Johnson and I 2 years ago. Cool nigga in a cool ass fur jacket that I'm pretty sure he stole from someone's Mum.