New Years Eve was my parents anniversary and I have one beautiful memory of this pointless holiday. My mama used to lean over me and kiss me goodnight on her way to meet my stepfather, to wait for him while he worked. He was a chef, and she was the lovely icing on the cake of a perfect life. I distinctly remember being caught up in the magical perfumed fog of her fanciness. She never wore makeup except for that night, and she always had something special and sparkling, on. I loved every bit of her glamorous excitement.
It was not my anniversary and I do not share the same anticipation.
I did so well all weekend, only to crash and burn after he texted me tonight #fail. For whatever reason, I need answers and I’m never going to get them. It sure doesn’t stop me from asking for the umpteenth time, though.
My feelings are hurt and my ego is wounded. He’s a very lucky man that I’ve evolved a lot, because once upon a time, I would have eviscerated any man for half as much suffering.
More directly… I’m incredibly grateful for him.
I didn’t see it coming and I admit I’ve been blindsided by his magical dick and equally satisfying character. I was tipsy fabulous and I still don’t entirely know what happened the night I thought this was a good idea, but here we are… with me crushing outside the lines and asking questions he’ll never answer. Fuck.
So instead of being pathetic and whiny… I need to dust myself off, paint on some red lipstick and set him and every beautiful thing I adore about him, aside.
Regardless of desire, you cannot make a man want you. It’s one of the cruelest twists of fate. Wanting what you cannot have whilst knowing the satisfaction it brings, is the very definition of hell. Trust me.
I didn’t eat all those damn salads, lift all those heavy weights OR run from this beautiful problem so frequently, to lose myself.
I hate not having what I want, but who doesn’t? For the record, hating it doesn’t change a thing, and when you compromise yourself to send those words that are stuck in your throat… you hate yourself a million times more.
Realizing that you put yourself where you shouldn’t have, sucks. Realizing that you pursued putting yourself there again after you knew how bad it stung, makes you complicit. Insanity is defined by doing the same thing twice and expecting different results. I’m not sure how they define doing the same thing for 4 months while still hoping things will be different.