confession:

It is true: I am most content with the passionate, nonreciprocating crushes I develop. When will I learn?

a fright ending in shame

It only took one text to get my heart racing.

"We are at the doctors. Mum is not feeling well. They think there might be an inflammation in the brain or the spine."

In that moment I did not know what to do. Tears formed, breathing got harder. I knew I had class and I was ashamed of the tears that were falling. Taking a deep breath I tried to explain to him but I felt childish. With each word I paused and prayed nothing would spill. I managed and he understood but I felt that gaze. I know it too well. That gaze of pity and uncertainty. And I hated it. I hated myself for not being able to keep my composure and I hated him for giving me that look. I have heard "I'm sorry" too many times; when those exact words stumbled out of your mouth, I wanted to hide in shame.

You left me but with a few deep breaths, I walked in knowing that from now on, you will judge.
They always do.

marriage

This afternoon I had pleasure of attending my anthropology lecture on marriage, both monogamous and polygamous marriages. Alright, it was far from pleasurable. I always had odd thoughts on marriage--any type of marriage. I was never the girl to fantasize about my dream wedding. I never dreamt about the perfect white dress and the glorious ceremony. No. My mind never fed me images of such fantastical things. I knew of the perfect white wedding but I never understood it.

I knew I was never comfortable with talking about marriage because I have tried to express my thoughts before and I received many strange, critical looks in return. I myself cannot fully describe my own thoughts and feelings towards this topic. I recognize it is not a light topic to begin with. It is tied in with religion, traditions, and a whole other culture. It deals with legal binds, promises, unexplainable forces which draw two people together. Marriage is incomprehensible for me; I do not understand the purpose, I see flaws and it is terrifying. I cannot speak of marriage without experiencing feelings of anxiety and confusion. How can I when I cannot comprehend the word? When I do not even have the answers? How can I calmly explain to someone my views on marriage if I am unsure of where my distrust comes from? I admit: my thoughts can be contradictory and lead me in full circles. I struggle with finding these answers for myself. I did not realize the extent of my fear and confusion in regards to marriage until I sat in lecture and began to feel uncomfortable. I felt violated in some sense because I was being presented with knowledge on marriage. It was as if marriage was being validated and this "fact" was being instilled of a non-believer. The room seemed to small, too hot, the lights too bright and it was hard to breathe. I ran out with cigarette in hand and took quick breaths.
I went back down and sat down in my seat.
Within fifteen minutes, it began again. The room, the lights, the air. I ran out and paced back and forth.

It was unbearable.

strange paraphernalia

A choice between the new and the old.

One is worn, old but holds incredible memories of ecstasy. Sure, the colour has faded but the fabric is just as soft and provides such warmth on chilly insomniac nights. You can see the loose threads that poke out of the sleeves. Like the rest, it is inevitable; as time passes those threads that once held it together are bound to slowly unravel with each use.

The other is different. Its colour is vibrant and the cutting is rather daring. You unexpectedly found it hanging on a thin wire hanger. Laying your eyes on it, you knew you had to bring it home with you. The material is just as soft but you are not sure how warm it is--especially in the harsh Canadian winters. There is a small, almost unnoticeable red logo on the left breast pocket. You cannot make out what it is but it's attractive.

Placing the two side by side, you sigh. How can you pick between the two?

the little things

One:
In that one second, our eyes met. They always meet at the most unexpected of times and it always gets my heart pounding. But you play games; you pretend to not notice that I pass by you (but I catch you turning around as I walk by).

Two:
Unexpectedly you were behind me. You, with that familiar smirk, and those sleepy eyes that shone when you spoke. It was our first conversation, although you spoke a lot more than I did. But I listened very well. Everything you had said to me were thoughts I've been struggling for a while now. But hearing it from you made it seem more attainable, more clear. You speak with such conviction and admittedly, I love hearing you speak with such intelligence. You are a special human being.

Three:
We have known each other for some time now but we are still acquaintances. You always greet me with a smile and say "how are you?" But today was something different: you tapped me on the back unexpectedly. It was not rough, quick or disruptive. Rather, it was gentle, kind and friendly.

You’re just a casual lover—but that’s okay.

She suffered deeply from her own curiosity. She held her secrets so tightly, they crumbled in the palms of her hands. She understood morality but only in theory because when she was put up to it, she was always blinded by her own infatuations. Nothing drove her faster towards recklessness than the harsh realities that clouded her own world. Life stood as an obstacle for her as she desperately tried to come to terms with the unknown, the foreign. She often wondered how some made it look so easy; they carried themselves with such grace and ease as they walked with peace in their hearts. Meanwhile, she tiptoed around the city, hoping that someone would stop and ask her why.

“Why are you walking on your toes?” 
“Because the world is too fragile and more often than not, people forget the weight of their own existence.”

5,7,5

tiny scars reside
keeping old secrets alive
they understand best

time out

It is time for me to stop dreaming and creating fictional scenarios for myself. It started out as something that happens once in a while but it is becoming more and more frequent. I meet one person and begin this destructive pattern where I’ll start to over-analyze and become infatuated with the feelings involved with the story; the characters are real, the plot is idealistic and I let it get to my head.

It all has to stop. I need to gain self control: a concept I was once familiar with but now I’m letting my desires get the better of me. I am going to begin with acknowledging every action I make and hope that I will realize that I have been acting naive with certain people and quite frankly, that is the last impression I want them to have of me: simple minded and foolish, like a child.