Sunday, February 14, 2010

A Sweet Little Postscript

On a more positive note, two of my best friends got engaged today.
They're childhood sweethearts and each other's best friend.
They make me believe in happy endings; something to be grateful for.
(Also I get to be her maid of honour, which is exciting, and gratifying, and made me feel loved)
Thats all folks... thank you and goodnight.

Post Valentines Musings

I read once, that everyone wants to think that their love/ grief/ loss, is unlike any that has been before.
That they are the first to think their thoughts, to walk the exact route across this planet.
That they are new, raw, unmatched.
That if only others could see inside their heads, they would be astounded and overcome.

And before all of this, I thought that it might be true.
It seemed likely enough. Forgivable.
And so, I was ready to experience an ugly, selfish kind of pain. To pull within myself and peer out at the world scornfully.
To watch others, and think that they were only happy because they were somehow, emotionally..less. Not so finely wired.

Instead I find myself wanting to know that whatever it is that I'm feeling is unimportant. I want to know that the middle aged woman next door, despite her dull exterior, has experienced far more, has felt in ways that I'm not ready for.
That the man walking down the street, tobacco stained hands carrying flowers, is bringing them home to his companion of many happy, and some hard, years.
I want to know that if others could hear my thoughts they'd laugh, in that way that adults have, behind their hands.
I want to be patted on the head, called "child", reassured that the best, and the worst is yet to come.

Tuesday, February 09, 2010


I haven't cried since we said goodbye. Not one tear.
I haven't moped around in my pajamas. I haven't consumed vast amounts of sugar.
I haven't listened to whiny rock, ooh baby's, because I'm stronger's or lost without you's.
I didn't throw out any of the stuff you gave me, I like it, you have good taste. Nor did I stow it away in a shoe box, between layers of tissue paper, sealed with kisses.
I haven't pined, or sighed, or gazed out the window with wistful eyes.
I am thinner, but I'm pretty sure that it's because I refused to eat the airport food.
I've always been pale.
I don't think I've been irreparably damaged.
And I'm fairly certain that after an appropriate amount of time, I will fall in love again.
Furthermore I will be entirely sure that I've really never felt this way before/ everything was worth it to get to this point/ that my life will never be the same.
So it goes.

However, given a choice, I would gladly be put onto ice, left undisturbed for a few weeks. Months.