Thứ Ba, 31 tháng 7, 2012

the fear of loss

heart of mine
ph: weepy hollow

We made no sense on paper.

And yet, the first time we met each other's gaze, sprawled out on those hideous couches that smelled of feet and popcorn, the remainder of the room and its occupants faded out of any inkling of mental awareness I had left, because it was as if smoke machines has been let off inside me, spreading a fizzy, warm, dizzying vapor of overwhelming... feeling.

Feeling. The thing I'd been so careful to avoid ever since I could remember. Feeling had always inevitably lead to disappointment. Take it away, and all expectations with it, and you have yourself a bearable, albeit somewhat streamlined, rhythm of life.

You didn't fit into my life.
You still don't.

If we made a list about me, and a list about you, they'd repel each other with such force they'd create a black hole.

And yet, I cannot shake, even these many months later, that indescribable sense of peace that washed over me as we sat, curled up in that old purple couch, just talking. I don't remember what about. Like everything that had constituted the violent whirlpool of slightly self-destructive, acutely cynical, decidedly damaged thoughts, ideas and philosophies that made up my reality just... stopped.


Halted... and collapsed into bits.

I used to be completely convinced that I'd die alone. In a large manor. Filled with books. And CDs. And art. And pictures of crazy times. With odd intellectual friends. And a garden. Close to a foggy, grey beach.

I knew that men were only there to disappoint you.
I knew it.
It was an inevitable.
In fact, I'd mulled the thought over so many times that it was a
soggy little puddle of

My mother realized this, and subsequently shoved me into therapy.

All those years and sessions and techniques, and you managed to shatter all the damage some thought irreversible in a mere week.

We didn't really have to talk that much. We never really had to finish sentences. It just.. everything made sense. You got it. You got why I didn't let anyone close, because you didn't. You also didn't see the point in romantic entanglements.
To let our emotions manifest themselves properly was terrifying. We had no control over them. They led us to places where we'd be vulnerable.

Vulnerable from having survived similar shitty situations growing up. Life-altering, unfortunate events that transpired throughout any fault of our own, and we'd had to pay for them ever since. And we'd both been getting used to our idea of a life of solitude, of protected, distant interaction with others.

And yet we let our emotional armors fall in an instant, and dealt with that shift in our realities separately for the next week.
The pull was much, much too strong for us to hold on to them, despite how much we both fought it.

To let you hold that much power over me?


Shifting a person so utterly paralyzed from years of an intense fear of loss to complete vulnerability?

Truly devastating.

But...thank you.

No, really, thank you.

You changed me.

Fear of loss is a lot worse than losing something. Because the fear of loss makes you avoid situations where you would be in the position to lose anything.
And, well, that's losing all by itself, isn't it?

And now, we're writing to each other. We have been for awhile. They're benign, every day life stories. You tell me about your week, I tell you about mine. We don't do endearments. It's all been said. It's understood. We aren't under the illusion that the other is perfect. Far, far from it.

But we make sense.
Ask anyone in the room that time, with the smelly couches and the pull so strong it rearranged the particles in the air.
it's nonsense. We talked nonsense. It isn't relevant.
But we make so much non-sense together.

You say you could come visit me.
Come halfway across the world for me.

And I can't.
I can't fathom it.
We're young.
This is ridiculous.
I don't know why.
But it is.

I think I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of being that completely vulnerable.

So vulnerable, I feel like my flesh has been stripped away and my muscles and cartilage are being exposed to the elements.

So vulnerable, I feel like every movement is at risk of making my bones shrink until they disappear, and leave me a crumpled pile of mess.

So vulnerable, I feel like if anyone were to touch me, I'd shatter into a million tiny pieces and a thousand tears.

I don't know.

To have my entirely new world - the one where men are humans, who are just as fucked up as we are, but the occasional respectful one comes along - depend on you?

It scares the shit out of me.

I'm waiting for you to fuck it up.
Maybe, if you come, you will.
Maybe I'm afraid you'll fuck it up if you come here.
Maybe you'll come and the pull will have dissipated.

There it goes again.
The fear of loss.

Thứ Hai, 30 tháng 7, 2012

Chủ Nhật, 29 tháng 7, 2012

i hope you see

ph: joshua whitelaw

She’s the only antidepressant to have ever worked, for however brief a time.

A life spent wallowing in self-loathing and bleeding wrists because it was the only thing I was good at. The only thing the bullies said I was good at. I was always on the outer at school, never truly engaged in the social aspect of life, just there to be a helping hand to friends by listening and helping solve their problems and be dubbed ‘a nice guy’ whilst they went and flirted and laughed and gossiped and fulfilled their lives. I was never happy. I was oh so jealous of my better looking counterparts, how they had everything handed to them on shiny plates. I watched love flourish but never took part and I was green with envy. It was brutal watching what I want pass me by, but severe depression and chronic antidepressant consumption froze my tongue.

It was at university I learned of non-reciprocal love. I fell head over heels in love with the girl who is now one of my best friends. I loved her more than life but she resigned me to the friend zone and it stung more than anything. My face is still salted when I remember and I still feel the odd pang of jealousy when I see her kiss her boyfriend or watch her smile as his face greets her touch screen. I’ve had people tell me that we would have been perfect together and that I should have pursued her. I take this with appreciation and offence, which is a strange feeling to say the least. But I have stuffed my feelings for her down too far to ever want to see them again. I already hurt too much as it is.

Anyway, she arrived in a flurry of gorgeous red hair and pale skin and we awkwardly acknowledged one another, she too was at school but she was as shy as I was and thus we had never spoken. Quiet, reserved, petite and quirky, she spoke softly and gave nods to indie fashion. I congratulated her on her acceptance into university and she proposed that we catch up some time. No preconceptions or anticipations, I accepted.

The day we saw one another again in the corner of a quaint little café was the first time in my life I’d could ever truly say I was happy. Her life was wrought with struggle, self-hate and depression. Liberation washed over me and we bonded over our mutual traits. She was me. And I loved the view for the first time. We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about a scarily large number of commonalities, tottering around campus talking about indie bands and cruelty and animal rights and blueberries. This will come off as stupid, childish and naïve but I was in love with this girl, despite our short time together. I had forgotten the previous yet still fresh hurt of a love unconsummated and her voice funneled honey into my veins; everything she said made perfect sense, I could relate and didn’t have to posture to feel at ease. I left her with a warm smile, an exchanged phone number and a promise to meet again soon. We did, many times, chatting, empathising, trading mixtapes, laughing, professing our mutual feelings for one another, I fell asleep on her and listened to her quickening heartbeat; it screamed of a nascent relationship. Reciprocity was amazing. She gave incentive to what has otherwise been a pathetic existence and it validated all the hurt. I was fucking happy and I was for you.

A month or so later, she told me she was seeing someone who she is now in a relationship with. She said she really liked me but nothing could eventuate. It was as blunt as that. I cried and shook and vomited and bled into the basin. My stomach was in my chest and my heart was in my mouth. She told me she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt for him, yet flirts with him in a public forum. She tells me she still likes me a lot, and she also flirts with me still (of which she admits to doing). I don’t want to bury my love for her but I cannot deal with the awkward and ultimately unfair ambiguity anymore. I hope you see me whilst I’m still here. I love you.

Thứ Sáu, 27 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Năm, 26 tháng 7, 2012

you might actually like me

ph: weheartit

i wanted to let you know how frustrating our situation is for me and that’s the safest way i can put it.

hah, see, i can barely put my feelings to words-- rather, i can’t put them in a way that you’d be comfortable with. we’ve had talks like this before, and i always have trouble getting to the point because i know that if i say something too intense or too emotional, you’ll shut yourself down. then everything after that would be like talking to a block of ice; you’d be melting away as i speak until there’s none of you left. just an empty space. and i hate that about us.

don’t get me wrong, every other aspect of whatever-it-is-we-have is fantastic. it’s almost like our lives were written out by Sarah Dessen; our relationship is a sappy, teen-romance novel. but that’s the thing. it isn’t quite that. i mean, it starts out with the cliché: you and i are two totally different people. you are quiet and shy. a man of few words. but, hey, when you start talkin’, things start to make sense. you make every word count. you think before you act. i, on the other hand, am loud and friendly. most people say i am the jolliest person they have ever met. i blurt out basically whatever comes to mind, in hopes that nobody will care ‘cause they’d be too fixated on my enthusiasm. similarly, i am rather impulsive. so we are completely opposite. but, somehow, we click.

we hang out two to three times every week. we stay on the phone for long periods of time. we send each other silly blurbs and inside jokes through text message. we hold hands. we cuddle. we spoon. kiss. we eat dinner at each other’s houses with each other’s family. we call each other adorable and cute. we’re there when one needs the other the most. we tell each other everything. we’re virtually best friends. how generic-couple are we?

the answer is not at all.

if we were a generic couple, we’d be fine right now. i’d be fine right now. sure, we’d have our ups and downs, but like every good Sarah Dessen book, we’d find a way to figure it out. but how can you figure something out if you don’t even put any effort to it? we don’t acknowledge the problem, let alone try to solve it. you must be thinking, “nothing’s wrong. this chick’s insane. we’re totally fine.” see, i used to think so, until now. it’s been building up for a year and i can’t stand it. i may be insane. i don’t know. but here goes:

the problem is that we are not dating.

because you said you don’t like me that way. no matter how many times we adventure or chill in each other’s houses. no matter how much you hate the phone and still insist on talking on it with me. no matter how hard you try to make me smile on the rare occasions when i’m down. no matter how many times you tell me how smooth my hand is and how it fits perfectly into yours. no matter how much you initiate each embrace, each kiss. no matter how much our parents think we’re getting married. no matter how much you stare at me lovingly. no matter how many times you’ve been there when i’ve needed a ride home, or am scared, or have had an asthma attack. no matter how much you share with me that you don’t share with anyone else. no matter how close we’ve become. you still say that you. don’t. like. me. that. way.

and i don’t get it.

because today, i heard you say you love me. clearly. when you thought i wouldn’t hear.
and when i asked, you denied it.

the problem is, i don’t know where i stand.
the problem is, i don’t get why you won’t just accept the fact that you might
actually like me.

Thứ Tư, 25 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Ba, 24 tháng 7, 2012

our story isn't over

ph: weheartit

You make my head feel like a busy, New York City street the second your name lights up on my cell phone.

It doesn't happen often, and it hadn't happened for a year and a half until recently, but when it does i don't know how to feel.

You were my first love, and first loves are hard to forget. I truly believe that the first person you fall in love with will always have a piece of your heart. It's never whole again- no matter how much you move on, how many more people you fall in love with, or how much you give to the next person- there's something special about the first time you give your heart away. Or maybe it's because your first love usually ends up in your first real heartbreak and you never quite get all of the pieces back.

I don't know what kept me with you for all of those years. I was young, naive, and immature i guess. But i loved you. Oh man, did I love you. I think i would have fought to be with you until i couldn't go on. I would have been content being with you and only you forever and ever. But you didn't feel the same. And to fight any longer would be foolish. You gave up on me not once, but twice, and it broke me down more and more. You treated me terrible in those last few months, as if I were a stranger you never even cared about. You left me a ghost. You left me broken. You left me.

It took so long for me to get back on my own two feet and finally feel anything again. And as everyone would tell me, time did heal. But no one ever really listens to that phrase...time heals. But healing doesn't make it go away, it just makes it bearable. It's like a scar. There's the initial wound and it hurts like hell, almost to the point where you think you'd rather just be dead at this point, and then slowly but surely your cut closes up and then there is the scab. You pick at it a few times and it hurts all over again. And eventually you have a scar, and it fades and fades, but it's never gone. There's always something to remind you.

And then i met him, and he swept me off my feet. He showed me what it was like to truly be loved and he gave me everything you never even thought to give. Everything that hurt finally went away with a flash of his smile and with the touch of his hand I felt like I had found my real forever. A month into the relationship I could see myself with him fifty years down the road. I had never loved someone this way before, not even you. Months in though, little fights started poisoning our relationship but we worked at them. I still love him with my whole heart and i still fall asleep next to him but every now and then you slip into my dreams, out of nowhere, just like in real life and in my dreams I miss you.

I never thought, in a million years, you'd come back to me again. I'm over you, I am, I worked way too hard at it not to be. But when I get a text alert at 2:30 in the morning, and i see your name on the caller ID, my head and heart start a war. I don't think it's love, i think it's missing who you were. I have this idea of you at sixteen in my head but six years later that isn't who you are.

But for some reason tonight, it hit me hard. You know me way too well not to know how to win my heart, even for five seconds. I hate you for making me feel like this. I hate you for what you did to me way back when. I hate you for making me second guess the perfection I have now. I hate you for never really disappearing from my life. I hate you for having the nerve to ever even think I'd take you back. I hate you for your late night texts. I hate you for who you've become. I hate you for it all.

You texted me tonight and said: "I just have a weird feeling that our story isn't over. But clearly I'm the only one thinking that."

And I'd never admit it, to you or myself out loud, but...I've never stopped thinking that exact same thing.

Thứ Hai, 23 tháng 7, 2012


ph: ilovedoodle

Chủ Nhật, 22 tháng 7, 2012

love is much more

ph: Send More Mail

In my mind I dream of unknown places and future lovers. See, I dream allot. Part of me is stuck in an alternate reality, in a fairytale book or a Taylor Swift song, where no one gets hurt, and everything is perfect and gets resolved. I'm in love with the idea of love, but I have yet to truly find it, even within myself. I have thought I found it before, thought I grasped it, the concept of it at least, but I was wrong. Love takes no exact shape or form, I think of it as a quivering mass, that can be molded into any shape. For awhile now I have been a numb individual, numb to life, numb to pain, and numb to love. I have been content this way, safe in my little haven, safe in my mind. Little did I know, that I was missing so much. It didn't take a boy, or an unforgettable kiss to make me realize this, it took one conversation with a very good friend. To me love is much more than loving an individual, or even loving yourself. It's about loving life, loving this earth that we inhabit, loving the spirit that fills our soul (whatever that may be), and loving being alive. The most frustrating thing about love is that no one can give you that love of life, not any self help books, or therapists, or even religious figures. (though they may help.) It's something you find within yourself. I finally realized that while, I was afraid of living I was just existing. I want to LIVE. Not just experience the joys of life, but the pain too. I want to LOVE. Not just have a perfect relationship, but have flaws too. I WANT to be hurt, I want to be a complete mess, I want to live in a foreign city where I now no one, and they don't know me. Because anything is better than feeling nothing. Nothing is lonely, nothing is cold. Nothing is giving up. I vow to live and to love from this day forward. To love myself, to love life, and the earth we inhabit, to love the spirit the fills my soul, and to love being alive. I can only hope the same for you. Good luck on your journey.


Thứ Bảy, 21 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Sáu, 20 tháng 7, 2012

until she came along

ph: weheartit

Finally my heart has found what it had been looking for in all those crushes on all those boys.

I am in love. and SHE is in love with me- even with what happened,certain events which i would have thought would have caused her to leave me- she has stayed by my side. holding me up when i break down, telling me i'm beautiful when I feel like a monster. making me laugh when all i feel like doing is crying.

she may not be the person I thought i was going to end up with. the majority of my life there has been this sort of idea of, well, a boy. I can still see him; tall, rather thin. tussled dark hair and maybe some glasses. he reads dante and beauvoir and maybe he writes or paints or plucks guitar strings. he has spindly fingers and maybe isn't the most gorgeous hunk on the block but his quirky charm is still captivating as we have picnics and talk about the possibility of the reality of a faerie world. He's a compilation of the love interests from many novels/ the type of person i give the double-take.

instead I have fallen for a curly-haired history major who loves video games and plays softball. She eats meat and doesn't always shave her legs. She talks about poop and we laugh at racist jokes that we shouldn't. she won't take a class she doesn't have to- she just wants to get through this college thing. she waits until the night before to write papers for classes she hates.

And I think she's gorgeous. I love her smooth skin and silky hair. her hazel eyes with a sunburst of gold around her pupil. her lips are perfectly shaped and are soft and warm against my skin when she nuzzles in my neck under my ear or kisses my chapped lips quietly when no one is looking. Our hands fit perfectly together and I just feel drawn to her. Even when we tease each other mercilessly or I feel like she doesn't want me around (regardless of whether this is true or not) I want to be with her. to be away from her for too long makes me feel like part of me is missing. because a piece of my heart is with her. We are so different yet so similar in sometimes meaningful sometimes insignificant ways. I'll stay up till 4am just talking with her.

She wasn't my first but so far she has been the best... between the sheets. I'm not embarrassed about my body and it's imperfections- she makes me feel gorgeous. I might have the sex drive of a small colony of rabbits and she would rather cuddle all night- it doesn't matter because I am with her regardless. I don't care if we never have sex again. being with her is worth it.

I don't know what else to say about us. somehow we fit together better than i would have thought. I remember meeting her and being attracted to her. not just physically but I instantly wanted to be her friend.

I remember as we grew closer and closer i couldn't help but think about the possibility- of us. not many people knew about my attraction to girls as well as boys. Brian knew but as far as i know he kept it as secret. my past lesions know but god knows what they think. I haven't talked to one for ages and the other and i have decided it is for the best to stick with being best friends and soul sisters.

I remember thinking about how much I wanted to kiss her- i wanted to see if she tasted as good as she looked. i would tease and flirt... testing the water I suppose.

who knows if we will be together forever. I know that in this moment I love her. totally and completely. it's strange how scary that is to put into writing. every time I say it it becomes more and more real. I love Heather. why is it so frightening to put down? is it a subconscious fear that the sentiment won't be returned? we say it enough to each other that I should be content and secure- but i wonder if i ever will be.

we could last another month another year a decade. but in this moment- I know this- I am happy and when I am with her the world seems a little less frightening and more manageable and I can see the hope waiting in the bottom of Pandora's box.

I could gush on and on about the way i feel when i am with her. i love the way she makes me feel. like i am worth the time of day.

the future scares me. other people scare me. my mom knows- i still can't tell what she thinks. well- i know she thinks it's "just a phase" which i suppose could be true. but it is the most wonderful phase i have ever had and i hope i never grow out of it.

and now you know.

I identified as straight until she came along and became the love of my life.

Thứ Năm, 19 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Tư, 18 tháng 7, 2012

since we said goodbye

LE LOVE BLOG islam zayed cloud photo love quote break up im so sorry that this is how things turnedn out
ph: weheartit + Islam Zayed

I really don’t know what to do anymore.
I feel like shit for moving on, for meeting someone else.
I feel like shit knowing that you haven’t moved on,
I feel like shit knowing that your heartbreaking facebook status is about me.

It’s been over six months since we said goodbye to us, you and me.
But it’s only been about two months since we said goodbye for real, no friendship no nothing.

I know it was stupid of me, hanging around with you knowing that you still had those feelings, holding your hand when watching a movie and hugging you goodbye at night. I know I broke your heart and I’m really sorry for that. I know that no words will ever make up for that but I just want you to know that I’m so really sorry, from the bottom of my heart.

I know you’re still hurting really bad from things I’ve said and done and it’s making me sick. I can’t do anything to make you feel better, I’m only making everything worse just by writing this.

I hope one day you will meet someone who will give you everything I couldn’t.
I just want to be there for you, but I know I can’t.
I will see who dares to stand where I stood.

P.S. You were always on my mind.

Thứ Ba, 17 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Hai, 16 tháng 7, 2012

i believe you will only truly love once in your life

ph: weheartit

Sometimes, after hours and days of convincing myself I don’t need you, I slum back to wanting you back. That would not be possible though, since you never left. I am an idiot. I don’t appreciate you enough, and I push you away more often than naught when I realize I cannot do without you. I say this every time but it takes more than reiteration to make it happen. I am afraid. I am afraid to hold your hand, I am afraid to trust you wholly, I am afraid to trust myself when I am with you… I cannot take the leap of faith if you are not going to be around, because words are words and people are always people.

I always thought you were a mistake I was willing to make, because I believe you will only truly love once in your life. I believe I will love someone passionately, honestly, truthfully and only, in this life. I don’t want you to be that only one, yet I want it bad at the same time. I know I need to get out of this rigid routine and leave, to experience life the way I want to (and need to), but at nights, especially tonight, I don’t want to go through anything without you right beside. I wished my heart would bend, and never break because when around you, it hurts whenever my heart skip a beat. Why can I not forget you, I do not understand. I am tired of trying to find the answer to this question, and I suppose those around me are worn from the questions, including rhetorical ones.

I know when I wake up tomorrow, I am going to feel indifferent about you like I do in the day, though I would be nursing a phantom longing and pseudo heart-break that happens only at night, every night.

Why is this happening to me?

Chủ Nhật, 15 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Bảy, 14 tháng 7, 2012

someone's anyone

ph: naoko sakai

We used to play this little game in Osaka, when we first became a couple last o-hanami season.

Whenever one of us caught a falling sakura petal, we won a kiss from the other. We only stopped running and catching and laughing and kissing long enough to breathe, hands outstretched to receive all the goodness that life had to offer at that moment.

One day, inevitably, the petals stopped falling. The blossoms were dying, falling brown to the ground and blowing away like so much detritus in the wake of my flight home to London. There were no more kisses then.

Part of the enduring beauty of sakura blossoms is that they don't last forever. They're a reminder to live in the here and now before the moment is past and gone for good, ichigo ichie. It's a lesson we learn once a year, every year, and we forget it with the same regularity.

I don't know why we held on to those days so tightly, trying so hard to make us something we clearly couldn't be. It was ever more obvious when we returned to our home countries and found nothing but fragile flowers crushed in a death grip when we opened our fists at the airport.

After all, Prunus serrulata, the Japanese sakura tree, flourishes in incomparable splendour for only a few days, never to bear fruit.

After a while, in February, he found someone else to catch petals with. And when their short blossoming season finally ended in April, he emailed me some weeks later to admit that he realised he had needed someone, *anyone*, not necessarily her.

I'll never know for sure whether or not he felt that way about me. It's not important. It was as real as it needed to be at the time, and that's all that matters to me.

I pulled out the box of mementos from under my bed. Polaroids, letters, the power stone bracelet he bought me for my birthday last year and that I wore with fierce loyalty for six months straight. No longer the instruments of torture they seemed to be when I first put them in there, safely out of sight and out of mind two months ago - they were just ordinary things again.

Amongst them was that one photo of us, standing amongst the cherry blossom trees in front of Osaka Castle, smiling wider than the Minato Bridge. Our happy ending, before we started writing the unnecessary epilogue that took the magic out of the fairytale.

It's been a year now, since our story began.

One year, two sakura seasons, three hearts left wanting; a thousand pink petals that slipped between my fingers and rotted away on Kansai soil, all leading up to that one email. That one moment when I looked up from my empty hands and realised that all this time there had been cherries growing above my head where the blossoms once were, ripe for the picking. And I would never look back...

...never again be someone's anyone.

Thứ Sáu, 13 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Năm, 12 tháng 7, 2012

i know he’s not there

ph: nikolinelr

Time will pass by and I begin to feel like I’ve finally met someone that can loosen the reigns on my heart. There is always a comparison though, and in this case nice guys don’t finish last. Nothing else feels right. No one. If I’m in bed laying with someone, I can feel his body next to mine, and I know he’s not there. And I know that cold chill that suppresses my lung capacity, making it hard to breathe, is the lack of his sweet warmth; that sadness. And all I can say is as simple as it sounds-I miss him.

I’ve left behind the customs of a child. I prospered into an adult. I’ve felt abandonment and suffocation. I’ve been slandered, and I’ve been slaughtered with my vibrant blood smeared upon my own praying hands. Martyr has become my suffix. For over one thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven days, I have wanted to efface them all, minus one.

Four years ago, our leg muscles would swell as we walked for hours. The sweat in our hands would suction onto one another, closer and closer. And just like our entire situation, when we tried to pull apart, it was forced back in stronger, and much more secure. He lured me in fast and hard. I gave him all of me to hold onto for the rest of his life. I stored myself away for him, hoping to be explored in new ways everyday by only him. Our searching hands lead us to absolute love; it was real, and it was alive. There should have been a “happily ever after” at the end of it all. And I sometimes correct myself by saying, there shouldn’t have been an ending. Without any excuses, I let it fail. It was a period of depression that hit me like a midnight train out of nowhere. He knew, and he did nothing but show me that he was going to be there for me no matter what happened. It seemed like all too much to handle, and I left. I was so scared, and I don’t know of what. I knew I was petrified though. Petrified of being in love maybe. Knots of guilt and anger build from my stomach to my throat and boil like scorching tar. It makes me sick, and it makes me cry. Every. Single. Day. And God, he was beautiful. He had taught me, and made me feel, raw emotion in it’s purest form and how to use it. He was perfect in every way that existed. The way his mind worked, the way that he would speak so soft spoken, and how he felt. His aura would leave me in amazement. And I loved nothing more than that gorgeous smile.

Even after we were apart, him and I spoke. A new woman was in his life, and I was angry that he was with her. Not jealous, not at all. I was angry that he wasn’t treated the way he should have been treated. I know I had left, and breaking a heart is the worst that can be done, but I always treated him like the prized possession that he was. This girl raped him for his happiness. He lost himself entirely. And I tried to tell him to leave her, telling him the inverse of something is not that something’s opposite, but rather, it is that somethings turned around, and pulled inside out. I insisted that when you add two opposites together, you get zero. Zero is the embodiment of nothing. And I told him, “I’m sorry, but you two are nothing.” I couldn’t tell him what to do. So I swallowed my tongue and I let him read the words backing up in my eyes. After we’d secretly seen each other, he’d tell me how it’s so wrong how he feels for me, and wishes that there was never a break between us. And to this day, nothing has changed. I am made of a fragile heart that’s in excruciating pain. I don’t know how to gain closure, I don’t know how to properly move on. Memories have burned into the pitch black canvas that appears when I close my eyes.

Does it sound desperate? I wouldn’t doubt it, but following my doubts has left me in regret. To his face, through a phone, miles, and states away, if this ever comes across your screen- I miss you. I love you. I wish I could have one more kiss goodbye, one more whispered goodnight when you’ve already fallen asleep. This has all become indistinguishable.

cool couple


How cute do Katherine Power of WhoWhatWear and her husband, photographer Justin Coit look?! I'm a sucker for a cool and chic couple, so I just had to share ♥
Check out other ways to style Gap's summer collection and get inspired over at Styld-by.
For more on Katherine + Justin's looks check out WhoWhatWear!

Thứ Tư, 11 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Ba, 10 tháng 7, 2012

better to have him as a friend

ph: crysstalized

i love your smile - cause it makes me happy
i love your hands - cause when you hold me i fell like i'm home
i love your voice - cause it lights up my whole day to hear it
i love your hugs - cause they makes me feel special
i love your chest - cause your heartbeat makes me calm

but most of all i love your eyes - cause when i look into them i see you

this describes exactly how i feel when i am with him (the boy who is everything; beautiful, nice, funny, sweet, understanding... just perfect, you know). how every touch makes my heart beat like crazy, but also how much they hurts because he isn't mine. how i want to stay in his arms forever- but can't. that i feel like i'm the only girl in the world when he smiles at me, and how it breaks my heart when we're apart. that everything i dream of is to share my life with him. i don't care if i'm not the first girl he ever loved. i just want that i'm the last.

i so badly want to tell him exactly how i feel. i dream of that - but i am to shy and soooo afraid that it will ruin everything.

it's better to have him as a friend than don't have him at all. but it hurts so much.

Thứ Hai, 9 tháng 7, 2012

Chủ Nhật, 8 tháng 7, 2012

more than i’ll ever be able to articulate

C. Ross
ph: Parker Fitzgerald

Our relationship began at a time where we had both just come out of painful breakups. He was confident of his feelings and I thought I was confident of mine. He swept me off my feet with his wit and his charm. He romanced me just when I’d begun to forget what romance was. I was as happy as I’d ever been.

Our relationship was the cheesy kind of perfect where every day we would notice a new quirk about each other, discover new things in common, or share our childhood stories, and we would love every moment of it. We’d finish each other’s sentences and spontaneously break out in the same song at the same time. It went deeper than the cute stuff though. We talked about our future, what it was that we held closest to our hearts, our fears and ambitions. I told him that I was afraid that if I didn’t develop my cooking skills from here, I was terrified that my future husband would hate me and/or starve and die with our future children. He chuckled that “oh you” chuckle he always reserved for me (the one where he’d shake his head slowly and smile) and he held me close. “You’re silly.” He said we could experiment with cooking together. He loved cooking. I secretly hoped that he wouldn’t die from my experimentation. I loved him and death by pasta bake didn’t sound all that honourable.

The first few months were a flurry of kisses, giggles, hand-holding, dates, exorbitant phone bills and falling asleep in each other’s arms. I had no doubts about this boy. I felt like we could work through any obstacle that could possibly be thrown our way. This boy was so selfless, so dependable, so charming, so quick to think on his feet, and such a sappy romantic. I could never win an argument with him but it never stopped me from trying. Not that we ever really argued. He’d let me win sometimes, I think just to see me laugh and smile.

I remember that for months I would stop him when he talked about a future together. “How can you talk about it like you know for sure?” I asked, pessimistically quashing his romantic imagination. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

“IF we get married then...” he continued with a smile. I shouldn’t have stopped him because it wasn’t long before I was thinking about growing old with him as well. The “if”s had become “when”s in my mind anyway.

I was shy girl with sub-zero self-esteem and throughout our relationship he was always there motivating me and offering praise even when it was undeserved. He supported me in all my endeavours and encouraged me to grow in my spiritual life. He helped me overcome my insecurities. He was always ready with his big ears to listen to me whinging about something or other, and with his bright golden brown eyes to watch my face intently. Unless he was driving.

Things became difficult for us though. Past wounds began to resurface in my life and I had trouble pushing them back where they belonged. I messed things up time and time again over a period of several months, and yet still he hung on. Each time, he’d look at me with those kind eyes and forgive me. So because of him, we got through it. It was always him who had to bend for me even though I was the screwer-upperer.

After that series of speed bumps, I started to become bitter about my career (or lack thereof) and this bitterness permeated its way into every aspect of my life. I became a short-tempered cynic who disregarded the emotions of those around me. Again, he remained by my side, encouraging me and supporting me as I struggled with my petty problems. I starved him of the love and affection that he craved. Knowingly.

Each time he felt at breaking point, he’d bring it up with me and we’d acknowledge the problem. Of course, I was the only one who could address it, but I never did. So he’d push aside his hurt and quietly hope that things would turn around. It became a bit of a negative feedback cycle. I took him for granted. Cliché? Call it what you will. I used him when I needed support and neglected him when he yearned for something as small as a sign of appreciation. I became so awful that I started to hate him for his successes. I was jealous and self-absorbed. He’d worked hard and achieved such great accomplishments and all I could do was utter a quick congratulations and then revert to grumbling about how my life was so terrible. I could see myself changing for the worst and our relationship falling apart but I didn’t have the energy to try to hold it together.

He always fought for us but today he didn’t.

CB, I’m sorry I couldn’t be your dream girl. I’m sorry for all the hurt that I caused you. I don’t know what you ever saw in me, but I’m working on improving myself to become what you always knew I could be. You’ve raised the bar and I’m thankful for having had someone so amazing in my life. I’ll miss you more than I’ll ever be able to articulate.

Love, HP.

Thứ Bảy, 7 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Sáu, 6 tháng 7, 2012

my first love | frank ocean's 'coming out' letter

ph: Time Out

"Whoever you are, wherever you are… I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human beings spinning on blackness. All wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to. My loved ones are everything to me here. In the last year or 3 I’ve screamed at my creator, screamed at the clouds in the sky. For some explanation. Mercy maybe. For peace of mind to rain like manna somehow. 4 summers ago, I met somebody. I was 19 years old. He was too. WE spent that summer, and the summer after, together. Everyday almost. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the day I’d see him, and his smile. I’d hear his conversation and his silence until it was time to sleep. Sleep I would often share with him. By the time I realized I was in love, it was malignant. It was hopeless. There was no escaping, no negotiating with the feeling. No choice. It was my first love, it changed my life. Back then, my mind would wander to the women I had been with, the ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was a teenager. The ones I played when I experienced a girlfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realized too much, too quickly. Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plane though. I was in a Nissan Maxima, the same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles in. I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I would never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best, but he wouldn’t admit the same. He had to go back inside soon, it was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell me the truth about his feelings for me for another 3 years. I felt like I’d only imagined reciprocity for years. Now imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasn’t on a cliff, I was still in my car telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths and carried on. I kept up a peculiar friendship with him because I couldn’t imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasn’t always successful.

The dance went on. I kept the rhythm for several summers after. It’s winter now. I’m typing this on a plane back to Los Angeles from New Orleans. I flew home for another marred Christmas. I have a windowseat. It’s December 27, 2011. By now I’ve written two albums, this being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane, I wanted to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions. I’m surprised at how far all of it has taken me. Before writing this I’d told some people my story. I’m sure these people kept me alive, kept me safe. Sincerely. These are the folks I wanna thank from the floor of my heart. Everyone of you knows who you are. Great humans, probably angels. I don’t know what happens now, and that’s alright. I don’t have any secrets I need kept anymore. There’s probably some small shit still, but you know what I mean. I was never alone, as much as I felt like it. As much as I still do sometimes. I never was. I don’t think I ever could be. Thanks. To my first love, I’m grateful for you. Grateful that even though it wasn’t what I hoped for and even though it was never enough, it was. Some things never are. And we were. I won’t forget you. I won’t forget the summer. I’ll remember who I was when I met you. I’ll remember who you were and how we’ve both changed. and stayed the same. I’ve never had more respect for life and living than I have right now. Maybe it takes a near death experience to feel alive. Thanks. To my mother. You raised me strong. I know I’m only brave because you were the first. So thank you. All of you. For everything good. I feel like a free man. If I listen closely… I can hear the sky falling too.”

A beautiful 'coming out' letter- written by Frank Ocean.

Thứ Năm, 5 tháng 7, 2012

Thứ Ba, 3 tháng 7, 2012

to just look at me and make me feel

girl alone at party love quote blog when your crush is dancing with another girl someone else
ph: weheartit + typelikeagirl

so..I'm one of those people that never really likes anyone.. in high school Ive just never thought there was a point to having a relationship, i haven't shown interest in a guy for months maybe even adding up to a year and finally i start to notice this boy noticing me and of course it felt good to be noticed by someone.. i decide not to tell anyone but one night my best friend went out to this party and he asked her about me and when she told me he asked about me it only made me like the whole idea of him more so from then on i tried to pull myself together more for school, trying to walk in the hallways he walks in, make myself noticeable and for me that is putting myself out there, so i decide to open up to my best friend and tell her how i felt about him which was a huge step for me so its been this month of intense eye contacts and i always see him looking my way but he never is anywhere i am on the weekends and then finally i go to a party this Friday and he is there..he starts to gravitate towards where i am and we are so close back to back and I'm getting anxious and don't know what to do with myself and really am nervous at this point then we kind of separate but he lingers around where i am i try and say hi but he seemed to intimidated by me and it got kind of awkward, then my best friend starts to talk to him and i hear her bringing up my name and what not then all of a sudden his hands are around her hips but he still just stares at me and seems to try to get my attention, they end up "hooking up" and i try to act like I'm not hurting and i would never have expected me to get so wound up about something like this but its really getting to me and i cant seem to stop thinking about it. why her not me? i guess she is kind of easy and really is one of those girls that you know isn't going to turn you down but out of all the guys she could have chose she chose him and why does he have to just look at me and make me feel like he wants something from me or maybe he will grow a pair and come talk to me ? the one time i open up i get smacked right back down and not just by some lame girl that doesn't mean anything to me but its my best friend, and the truth is now i only want him more..and i feel so embarrassed that i even said anything to anyone about it and i know she said something to him about me which just makes me humiliated.. ahh dreading Monday

Thứ Hai, 2 tháng 7, 2012

Chủ Nhật, 1 tháng 7, 2012

who is the one i love?

tell me your dream
ph: Jaqueline Porfírio

All readers of Le Love, I really need help. I'm so confused with my own emotions. Please everyone, give me your opinion on this.

5 years ago, I loved John so much. Half a year later, he broke my heart. He tried to make up for it for another 2.5 years but I could never forget how badly he treated me before. I forgave him, but I really couldn't forget the times he made me cry, hurled vulgarities at me and turned his back on me. So after being with him for 3 years, I broke his heart.

Months later I got together with this new guy, Ron. John broke off all contact with me then. He just disappeared. Ron was a nice guy, at first. Despite that, John constantly lurked at a corner of my mind. I always wondered what he was doing, how he was and stuff like that. Stuff that I shouldn't be thinking off. Gradually Ron showed his true colours... His attitude, his bad temper... Everything. I was upset too. Who would like being mistreated..? I gave him chances, gave him nearly a year to change. I waited and waited.

A year later, John suddenly shows up to pick me up from my lessons. I saw him. My heart pounded faster. I smiled without knowing why. I wanted to run to him and hug him. It's weird to describe it, but he smelt so familiar. And Ron... We quarreled one last time, and we broke off. I told him I'd give him a week to change and if he succeeded I'd be with him again. The deadline is reaching. He hasn't changed. John wants me back. So does Ron. I want to be with John, yet at the same time I feel so unhappy. I feel so unhappy that I have to hurt Ron. I'm so afraid that he'll feel depressed. My heart aches for him. I don't want John sad either. I love both of them yet who is the one?

Why am I contradicting myself? So you see... I really do need help... Who is the one I love?

- Lynni