Love is not always magic

When I was young "I said I love you in a language I yet know how to speak."
I love you
I love you
I love you

"The unbearable weight of staying"
Warsan Shire

i don’t know when love became elusive
what i know, is that no one i know has it
my fathers arms around my mothers neck
fruit too ripe to eat, a door half way open
when your name is a just a hand i can never hold
everything i have ever believed in, becomes magic.

i think of lovers as trees, growing to and
from one another searching for the same light,
my mothers laughter in a dark room,
a photograph greying under my touch,
this is all i know how to do, carry loss around until
i begin to resemble every bad memory,
every terrible fear,
every nightmare anyone has ever had.

i ask did you ever love me?
you say of course, of course so quickly
that you sound like someone else
i ask are you made of steel? are you made of iron?
you cry on the phone, my stomach hurts

i let you leave, i need someone who knows how to stay.

Utterly

I'm scared but I can't say it loud. I can never say the things I feel intensely about. I'm hoping you would see that. You would see through me.
I'm reminded of the scene where chuck and blair met at the paris train station. From her beautiful red dress to the tears swelling in her eyes, to chuck's love and forlorn. But the music is what did it for me. "I'm in here. Can anybody see me? Can anybody help?"
Sometimes everyone wants to put their shields down. But they can't.
Maybe I don't know what I want, so I go after what others have and I don't so I can fill up the gaps.
It's time to figure myself out.

There's no story if there's no hope of change.

This site is too pessimistic and it's all about love, love, love. To quote effy, what is love good for? Absolutely nothing.
I'm too negative and it's time to look on the bright bright side.
Welcome sunshine. Let's hope it doesn't rain too long.

All I can say is that I was enchanted to meet you

Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you.

Stay

I let you leave, I need someone who knows to stay.

I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the
moon of the jagged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.

I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in bronze:
my father's father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow; my mother's grandfather--just twenty-four--heading a charge of three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on
vanished horses.

I offer you whatever insight my books may hold,
whatever manliness or humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.

I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow--the central heart that deals not
in words, traffics not with dreams, and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.

I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.

I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.


Jorge Luis Borges, What can I hold you with?

You drink so you will get drunk so you will forget

Sooner or later in life the things you've got, you lose.

Time after time

I'm cynical.
I'm scared of rejection.
I worry a lot.
I tend to think negatively.
I give others bad first impression.
I'm not observant.
I'm wary of the opposite sex.
I don't make friends easily.
I've low self esteem.
I'm sarcastic.
I'm scared of people who have an emotional hold on me.
I like to be alone and yet I'm lonely.
I share problems I no longer think are problems.
I'm bad at expressing what I really feel.
I hurt others so they wouldn't hurt me first.
I like to think i'm smart when I'm not.
I get hurt easily.
I say I don't believe in love but sometimes I do.
I want to be happy but everything I do is keeping me away from being happy.
I make bad decisions.
I procrastinate too much.
I'm too lazy.
I'm aimless.
I like to give others advice I don't heed myself.
I think about issues but I always circle around them and never truly understand them.
I've many unhappiness inside me but sometimes I forget them.
I think humans are alone no matter who they have beside them but I crave companion.
I don't care.
I can't express myself the way I want to.
I'm afraid of showing emotions to those I'm not close to.
I'm afraid of failure but I never fight to keep what's mine.
I want too many things I know I'll never have.
I wonder how much I deserve and never appreciate what I have.
I sink, fall, collapse too often.
I expect too much from others.
I'm very forgetful.
I remember so little what's important.
I don't realize when I've hurt others.
I regret too much.
I never know and do what's right.
I'm a wreck and I hope someone can fix me.

I'm trying to swim so I won't sink.
I'm trying to pick myself up when I fall.
I'm trying to be stronger so I won't collapse.
I like to think things can't get any worse.
This is my type of faith.

That's the problem with strangers. You become friends and then comes trust and reliance. I hate being reliant on a person. I hate having to bother about someone who means nothing. But that's the problem. Strangers are nothing but friends are not.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “Here is my secret. It’s quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes. . . . It’s the time that you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important. . . . People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said, “But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose. . . .”

The little prince


Maybe this is what it means to love someone.

Tame me

“What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well…”

The little prince

Don't

I realize I can never tell people my problems. I don't like to talk about my problems. I can't talk about my problems. I just can't.

I wonder how the people who can't speak ever vent their anger. Do they choke on the words they can't speak or swallow them bitterly? Do they push it back to their throat and let their tears speak for itself.

I am very upset. And I don't know why. I am very upset. And I feel like I can never get out of it. People are horrible. Too horrible. They can't help but be a disappointment.

I am a disappointment. I can't help but be a disappointment.

It struck me how nothing in this world is ever mine. Whatever I had is given. I can link it back to the person every object belongs too. Nothing is mine. Is that really true? Is anything mine?

You know what they say about the place behind your eyes and before your tear ducts. I used to be there. But I'm not anymore.

Now I'm just a vessel of unhappiness. I reek of failure and self disappointment. I'm so upset. I'm really very upset.

Not

Me

Problems

Their

Sometimes

Wish

I

They

Will

Tell

I think people unconsciously try to make others feel worse when they are having a bad day. It may be unintentional but it's vile. We can be so selfish.

There are days I feel nobody in this world gets me. This feeling is suffocating and very depressing.

You leave me undone

“Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.”

Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

I played the cards too late
And now you're gone.

You

"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid!"
He came closer. "Like hell."
"That you'll stop." it wrenched out of her as she griped behind her back. Once started, the words rushed out quickly and ran together. "That you'll decide you never really loved me anyway. And I'll have let myself want and start depending and needing you. I've spent most of my life working on not depending on anyone, not for anything."

Boundary lines, Nora Roberts