True or False: It is completely socially acceptable for me to read “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” for leisure.
We think of it as a sort of traffic accident of the heart. It is an emotion that scares us more than cruelty, more than violence, more than hatred. We allow ourselves to be foiled by the vagueness of the word. After all, love requires the utmost vulnerability. We equip someone with freshly sharpened knives; strip naked; then invite him to stand close. What could be scarier?
on Taco Bell vs Seafood Salad
“You work hard, put quality things back into your body”
- my best friend Raena
“you should at least text him back if not just because he is a human being, but because you are better than the dbags who never texted you back.”
-my best friend @shmaena
forever humbled, grateful, and inspired by this woman’s wisdom. thank you for keep me in check <3
sometimes i miss my bed even while i’m lying in it. now THAT’S love.
how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?
how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short?
why do you find the unavailable so alluring?
where did it begin? what went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless?
if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?
all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you, but they smelt it on you, you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin?
and what about the others that would do anything for you, why did you make them love you until you could not stand it?
how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful?
where did you learn this, to want what does not want you?
where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?
Just had smoked salmon and eggplant-garlic babaghanoush. WHO WANTS TO KISS ME #dimepiece
addendum to my last post:
i also received a $2 coupon for jamba juice. now i can be single, alone, entertained by a movie AND gorge myself with dessert. IF THIS ISN’T THE GOOD LIFE THEN I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS
there’s really no better feeling than getting a text message notification hoping it’s from someone “exciting” and it turns out to be redbox texting you with a discount saying, “hey, i know you’re still single. you know you want me.”
thank you, redbox. 50% off a rental, 50% decrease in self esteem.
you who laughed at dane cook’s jokes a little harder than you usually would have, you whose hair and wardrobe and lifestyle change with each new breeze brought in by a new lover. oh you, who feigned such interest in the lakers, cheering them on almost as fervently as you were cheering for your relationship. who begged your dad to buy you english sausage from an LA butcher just so you could cook a “full english breakfast” for a boy originally from the UK (who actually didn’t even end up visiting). you give up your home to make other feel more at their’s.
you who lays down your body, your self, for the comfort of others, like a bath mat for people to dry their feet on. “it’s nice down here anyway,” you say. because instead of acknowledging the pain and weight of another on your back you relish in the contact, the smothering closeness, the fact that someone needs you.
you’re a giver, but for reasons you’d rather not admit to. a true giver is selfless and expects nothing in return. you, however, are selfish and expect to be repaid for every little gesture and somehow every loving thought, repaid with gratitude, repaid with awe, repaid with a growing need and inability to live without you. but you see, my friend, no one can afford this hefty price tag of your love. nor can you any longer.
because how much you notice how little you do gets noticed. oh, how quickly disappointment transforms to resentment , how swiftly pride evolves a liquid personality into rock hard hate. hate begets hate, and suddenly this bright idea that brought you so much excitement becomes a stupid one; your act of love is held hostage, a pawn of extortion, a suicidal bomber that destroys everything in its path and resurrects just to do it again.
so let’s do it bomber. it’s time to go. arm yourself with your all your pathetic attempts, your sickening need to be accepted, liked, loved, all those contrived characters that starred in other people’s stories. hold your weapons tighter and tighter to yourself until you start to kill yourself. amputate the parts of you that belong to other people, even if it feels like you’re losing a limb. let each of those selves die off one by one, relationship by relationship. stand self less and naked to the world, let yourself be alone and afraid and unsure. stand right where you are, right as you are, and know that one day you will be enough. enough for others, enough for yourself, enough for love.
the sweetest of suicides.