All this and more.

Love is wanting you to be okay, even though you hate me and I hate you.

Love is still wanting to hold on after. Love is hot. Love isn't always pretty. Love brings crazy to the table, it brings jealousy, irrational fears, rage. The best love stems from faith. Love is respect.  

Love is getting angry when someone tries to hurt you. Love is complaining about you, but not letting anyone else do it.

Love is someone giving a shit about you enough to argue. Love is the ability to annoy. Good love is not passive. Love is being honest enough to say “don't touch me right now.” 

Love is my fingers in your hair, a tug of war, a bowl of noodle soup, a knowing look, a funny story, a backrub, a mindfuck.

wild things.

Think about the girls you still dream about, the ones from your past, the ones you never wanted to settle down with. They were irresistible to you, their messy lives were a mystery, their skin had always had too much sun, their hair was unkempt and their voices raspy.

You couldn’t touch these women; they had all their walls up. So, when they asked for your understanding and your advice, it was amazing. No, it was magical. Fucking them as they looked up at you, pleading with you not to stop, made you feel more like a man than you ever felt before. They needed you.

These women were your playthings, yours to use whenever, your very own bitches. Then one day they didn’t return your call or maybe they fucked someone else or told you that they didn’t need you. Oh dear God, the names. The names you called them that day, they make you ashamed even today. You were so angry. Your defences were broken. All of them. How could they leave? How could they not need you?

You talked to them at a later date, trying to play it cool, all the while wanting to scream how they broke the amazing relationship you had. Not realising that the only reason it was amazing was because they made it amazing.

These women, they loved you without clamping down on you. They loved you, but not like a mother or a wife – loved you like a lover should, like a girl should. Hard. 

We'll See - a phrase I never want to hear

Remember when we were kids and we asked our parents for something and the reply was 'we'll see?'  It was absolutely the worst! You KNEW it was a veiled 'no can do.'

Now that we've grown up, not much has changed. Parents might not say 'we'll see' anymore, but we do. Our friends do. 

When someone asked me to join him for a movie last week, I knew I didn't want to go. I don't enjoy his company, it's taxing to talk to him and he doesn't smile a lot. People who don't smile piss me off. The movie would not have been a date, if it was, saying no would've been easier. Then I'd have a real reason, like "I'm not interested." This was just a friendly hang-out. You have to be a genius to lie your way out of a hang-out session in this day and age. If I say I'm working, they will somehow know that I'm not, if I say I'm out of town, they will know. Everyone just knows everything. Take a bow - facebook, gtalk and bbm.

So I said - "We'll see, I'll let you know?" I was buying time, trying to think of a good reason to say no, a good non-hurtful reason. In the end though, I didn't let him know. I just pretended like I forgot. Bitch.

We think that things like 'we'll see' or 'maybe' are safe answers, but they must suck for the person at the receiving end. I've been on that end. They're worse than an outright no. A no is definite, it prevents wondering, questioning and limbo. Limbo sucks. A no is closure. I respect people who know what they want and more importantly, what they don't want.

Perhaps this is a good answer :

"No, I can't commit at the moment. I want to keep that night open for something incredibly sexy and fun. You won't be invited to that. But if it falls through,  I'll call you and we'll do our stupid movie."

No? Jokes. 

I can't see my legs.

    You said you can't swim into the ocean. Not because you can't swim, but because the deeper you go, you can't see your legs any more and that scares you. Not knowing where your legs are? I never had irrational fears like that. Never thought about it. My legs are attached to me. Kicking. I can feel them, so what if I can't see them? 

    I would swim deep into the grey sea, alone. I'd call out your name and tell you to come hold me. You'd never come, I'd keep swimming, squinting, eyes burning. I'd come back sometimes and try to pull you with me. No, Zan, you'd say. I never liked it when you were firm with me. I'd call you a coward, pinch you and go back, swimming till slowly, I started to scare myself, till I couldn't see you when I looked back. I'd panic, just the way you taught me to. Oh God, I can't see my legs. Why is the water so black? I'd swim fast, imagining all sorts of things holding me back. I'd swim to you.

     When we'd meet on the shore and play in the waves, I'd never tell you how I panicked. You thought me to be so brave. We'd fall over the water, over each other. Sand everywhere, in everything. I'd start to burn, you'd hide me under your arm and tell me to go inside. 

     Now, when I'm swimming, not even in the ocean, I panic. The water is clear, I can see my legs. I can see the tiled floor, even in the deep end. I'm scared and I want to swim to you, but you're long gone. And you've left me with these irrational fears about not being able to see what I can feel...