Don't patronise me.

This is seriously one of the best songs ever made.



"I miss you."
"Don't lie to me, I know you're only saying that because I'm saying it. You're probably thinking, 'how could I possibly miss her when I saw her yesterday?'"
"..."
"I'm telling the truth, aren't I?"
"... I don't know."

Thank you for trying to spare my feelings, but the damage was done nonetheless. I appreciate the effort, though.

You won't say it unless I say it. Neither will you ever tell me that you love me. You say it in response or when we say goodbye, but never will you look upon me in love and admiration and say those words with any kind of conviction. You don't love me for me, you only 'love me' for loving you. One day you're going to realise that. Until then I'll hold on to you, clinging with every breath, until the moment you wake up and take my breath away.

One day you're going to find a beautiful woman who will make you feel for her the way I feel about you. She'll be the luckiest woman on earth. You will be so good and wonderful to her and you will love her with every fibre in your being because she's the one.

Is it possible to be with the so called 'one' and yet you're not the one for them?

Don't blame yourself for not loving me, missing me or needing me in your life. Don't feel bad about it either, it's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's mine, and I think I'll be okay.

"I'll close my eyes then I won't see the love you don't feel when you're holding me."

Stunning lyrics.

I know you insist that you love me, but I also know that you're tired, you want to sleep and you're trying to get me to stop crying.

Please don't say those things unless you mean them.

Please don't patronise me.

when you love someone and still feel so alone.

Let's lay here for a while...

... and cherish every moment we're in denial.


So you're going. I told myself that even if you went, I'd be happy for you. That is a place where you can become closer to our God. That is a place where you can learn his great majesty and truth. Even if they don't teach you the real fullness of it. You go and our relationship will strain. You go and I may lose you forever. You go and I will have to trust Him to take care of you. I already do, but... why? Why does this have to happen?

"What's up? You look sad."

Ah, you know me too well. That tends to happen after being in love with someone for over two and a half years. You can tell the difference, even when they're lying to you.


"No, no. I'm just tired." I reply, glancing at the clock. "... and my period pain. It's playing up again."

"Oh, ok."

Perhaps, sometimes you can't tell the difference. 


"I'm fine, Bubba." I give you a sleepy smile and a kiss.

It's nothing, I'm just losing you. That's only the sound of my heart slowly breaking, if it's not already broken. Why do I have to love you so much? 

Maybe the it's time to begin cataloging the details, for later, for when I don't have you to kiss me, to hug me, to tell me I'm beautiful even when I don't want to hear it. Maybe I should start remembering the way your hair settles into perfect locks, or exactly where it tends to grow longer at your neck and above your ears than everywhere else. Or the way your right eye droops slightly when you smile. Or the way you don't like smiling in photos. It's not that you're not happy to be with me, it's because you're self conscious when you smile. Or the way photos never do you justice. Or the way I love watching your far off expression when you exit the car, thinking about something, waiting for me to exit so you can turn the key. Or the way we fit together perfectly, my softness, your firmness when we relax and meld into one another. You give the most perfect hugs. Maybe I should start remembering the unique and beautiful way you smell whenever I inhale during a kiss. Maybe I should start remembering the exact way your hair feels, course between fingers. Maybe I should start remembering the different tones of voice you use when you tell me you love me. Or the way your chest feels under my cheek. Or the sound of your heart when it beats. Or the way you try to please everybody, or the way you love your family, or the way you have always tried to please me. You slip up sometimes, but those mistakes are nothing, they're small. They don't compare to how much I love you. I love you, and I can't do this.

Blessed Mother. Lord. Be with me. Tell me what to do.

Is this it?

Should I fight? Should I try harder?

Should I give up?

So this is what heartbreak feels like.

I'm losing (him)

I'm happy for you!

But at night when the doors of the world close, abandoned in the sea of my own thoughts, all I can think of is the distance between us.

I pray that this does not separate us farther from each other. I hate this chasm we cannot cross, this fissure we cannot mend. There's a part of you that you can't share. There's a part of me that you cannot understand. I hug you so tight it hurts, but there's still the spaces between us, walls around our hearts. It is a sadness that has seeped into my soul. Here in this contemporary place, it is the remaining echo of a bloody past. Who knew that a historical schism could still reverberate so much pain 400 years into the future?

Lord? Is it your will that we walk together? Is it your will that our fates intertwine but never join? Sometimes it's like You're telling me to have patience and never give up, that one day the streams will meet and the waters will mingle. Sometimes You're telling me that there's a joining up ahead, but it is a path that can only be forged by You and I alone. Yet Lord, I cannot help but feel that he and I are being wedged evermore apart, that while our hands are joined we stand forever on opposite sides of a parallel, never to meet.

The alarm rings. It's 2:46 AM and I'm still awake. Closing my eyes and turning over, shy little tears slip across my cheeks. They glance past my quivering attempt at a smile. I am happy for you. Truly.

Although I will admit that this past week, despite being being fake, I have smiled for your sake.

Rumour Has It.

Rumour has it she ain't the one you love like anymore.

 First encounter with the ex. His ex specifically, and quite frankly I was very okay. First impressions? Pretty, but not overwhelmingly so. She was dressed rather, provocatively, oh alright she was dressed so scantily I had to refrain from wondering if she had walked straight off her shift in the red light district and into the restaurant. Forgive my cattiness but who honestly dresses like that in public and considers that appropriate? Her attire and demeanour were hardly classy but not knowing who she was initially, she had a sweet smile and seemed to very friendly with everyone. I actually was wondering about where the other girls had placed their purses, her and I seemed to be the only ones in the room who still had their purses around their shoulders, which brought me a sense of female solidarity.

I was halfway through my pinacolada before I glanced at her face and realised that she was familiar to me. Who was she? I know that I had seen her face somewhere before. A distant memory of facebook stalking and session of self-inflicted torture led me to the horrid realisation. I was mid-sip before my insides froze. HER. But it couldn't be her, my kind and considerate boyfriend would have pulled me aside and given me a warning in advance. Conversely, he'd probably fear my reaction and decide to play it safe by hoping I wouldn't become aware of her true identity all night. In this instance, it's quite a shame that I am an intuitive and intelligent young woman. It only required half a pinacolada and a night of careful listening to confirm my suspicions. No doubt once I suspected her identity my ears perked up the way a dog's does when it hears its owner approaching. Yeah, like that. The fact that our names sound the same assisted immensely, I wonder if that made for a smooth transition for my boyfriend... let's not ponder that.

First feelings? Very okay. I was taking it very well, actually. I was dressed with modest, classic sophistication. I was on the arm on the man I Love, I was chatting and mingling with his friends in a friendly manner. I was the perfect balance of cordial and fun-loving. I have no idea how she was (mingling, catching up with old high school friends I suspect) but I was the modest, classy individual whose heart was set on Christ. She was the party animal who - okay judging by the way she dressed I honestly thought she was a dancer, or part of the entertainment... one of the exotic dancing/stripper variety. Clearly, I'm an upgrade, right? No raging jealousy, no impulse to rip her teeth out or anything of the sort.

Oh how brief that rational bliss would be.

As the night progressed, I constantly had to scold myself. STOP LOOKING AT HER. Pretty difficult when you've an entire expanse of thigh, midriff and other sexual unmentionables walking around and searing your retinas. Did she have to dress like that? The fact that her and her okay-pretty face, taut backside, thin and practically perfect body was walking around in close proximity to him made me exceptionally edgy. I felt like she was following us. When she was in his line of sight, I stepped in and interfered with it. She sat at our table. Ignore her and be nice. Be classy. Like a sir. Be considerate. BE PERFECT.

What threatened to absolutely shatter my resolve was her dancing. She's a great and talented dancer, she has the grace and ability to pull it off - but honestly did she have to be that provocative? Did she have to dance like that in the presence of my boyfriend? DID SHE? SERIOUSLY? It's almost as though she did it on purpose. It made me question whether or not my dearest boyfriend was regretting his decision to be with me. Why did she have to be so sexually provocative? It was both intimidating and awkward. I didn't know if I should keep clapping, look away or leave the room to throw up. I could dance like that if I wanted to, but I don't, I don't want to be an occasion of sin, no matter how awesome it looks. So of course, I felt better about myself in that respect. But, it hacked away at my self esteem by making wonder if my boyfriend would like me to dress that way or dance that way, or have a perfect body like hers, or... be as daring and provocative, or... I don't know. It certainly induced me look upon myself in a very critical manner. Am I pretty? Am I sexy? Am I attractive? Am I his one and only? Watching her dance made me feel like answering no to all those questions. In my mind and heart I knew I was better for being a more dignified individual on the right path to the Lord, Loving my boyfriend with purity of heart, mind and soul, striving to love him the way Christ loves all of us. I know that that for a fact made me the upgrade and better person. However, a different part of me, a raging, ravenous and insatiable part of me - this dark monster I could barely control whipped out its claws and ripped apart all my rationality and sense of self-worth. I wanted to excuse myself and take a moment to breathe. And so came the plummeting of my self-esteem. I hate this horrid feeling.

I know that I'm better than this. Much better than this.

 It was as though she had something to prove. Like seeing me made her dance in such a way to make me feel like I am an inferior individual. Like she is the best he'll ever have and I'm just some sloppy, downgraded, mediocre and yet adequate replacement. Well if that's the case, I hope she did it because she was intimidated by me. In any case, no wonder why he liked her. Sigh. I'm sure she's lovely and that the beginning of this paragraph is total fiction. I'm sure that's just who she is - a fun loving, friendly person who happens to enjoy male attention, albeit the wrong attention. It's difficult to think about my beloved boyfriend liking anyone else, or having feelings for another person but its inescapable. But he's with me now, and that's all that matters. THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS, SERIOUSLY.

 The best I can do is pray for her. Doing so would completely contradict my naturally inspired propensity to call her a female dog and a slut. It also will help me overcome the feeling we all have, you know that feeling you get when someone you dislike succeeds in life? That horrible jealous feeling that makes you want to punch their face in? Yeah, that's a terrible feeling to have. It's jealous and selfish and completely uncharitable. It's good to remind ourselves that Christ resides in all of us and he loves all of us, especially when it is difficult to see the light Christ in that other person (especially when it is trampled and obscured by inappropriate clothing and sexually provocative dancing, for example). I don't like her, I don't want to like her, I don't want to think of her as sweet or nice or anything of the sort, but I will do this charity for her. I will try.

 It helps to remember that I'm the first girl he ever fell in love with. He called me "the one". Two and a half years vs a couple of months? Yeah I own.