Tag Archives: love?

Who knows

Who knows?

Not me.

I have no fucking clue.

No clue at all of what the hell am I doing.

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Old friend

The feelings I have now are not new to me. They are not new to me in the sense that I have before experience  . . . loving someone who doesn’t love me. The pain is nothing new, the hope as futile as I know it is, is nothing new . . .
The heart ache is an old friend, but for some reason this time I cannot shake it off. I cannot shake him off. As always this once, only this once I wish  . . . I wish  . . . to be free of pain. And in the end beloved by the one I love.

My love letter

I love you as you are,

I accept you as you are.

I sit in quiet darkness, waiting for truth from your lips and warmth from your touch. But they will not come and I have to make my peace with it.

I pray to no god as I think of you and hope against all hope that you come to me without reservations and fear. But you will not come and I have to make my peace with it.

This is how I love you. Knowing you will not come but hoping that you will, knowing in my heart the truth of it all.

This is how I love you. As you are, even when you are short with me and anger comes to you. As you are, even when you’re afraid and coldness emanates from you.

I love you. Because you are funny, or rather you think you are. Because you are sweet and kind. Because you are intelligent and work hard. Because you are a good man.

Because you speak Spanish to me and because you text me in German.

Because you get mad at me and you cook me spaghetti.

Because you build a wall and don’t let me in.

Because you kiss me softly and you flirt.

Because you love your cat and most of all . . .

I love you because you’re imperfect as I am, and . . .

I love and I couldn’t say why.

Mansplaining

Lets start with a clarification for the benefit of men:

When a woman expresses herself, when she speaks her mind, when she has doubts and or when she speaks at all she IS NOT ASKING MEN for their opinion on the subject, for an explanation, for help or for their input. So, stop telling women what to do, what to think, what to say. You are being insufferable, condescending and patronizing idiots.

Now to the issue at hand.

I wrote and posted a poem on the subject of love and freedom etc yesterday. A gentleman left me a very lengthy comment addressing the subject of the poem, but not only that, he also proceeded to,

  1. Give me advice on my love life. What bothers me the most is that he assumed that I need advice, that I want advice or that he is entitled and/or qualified to give me advice. Yes, I am expressing myself in a public manner but I am not asking for his or anybody’s advice. Why would he think that? Well, because men usually assumed their superior position when it comes to women. This attitude is condescending and quite blind to the fact that women are whole human beings equal to men.
  2. Explain to me  that my words were “to severe” and what words should I use and when should I use them. I am not opposed to receiving constructive criticism but I am oppose to people who tell me what and when to write or what words I should use.
  3. Tell me how I should live y life. No this is extremely offensive, so obviously offensive that I won’t bother explaining why.
  4. Finally, and this is the most outrageous thing of all, he told me the type of men I should engage in a relationship with. Need I say more?

To be free of me

What emptiness the end of love brings,

After the pain, although it was much less than expected,

The hours upon hours of leisure thinking when all the love is done,

There is no thinking of him, there is no missing him, there is no him,

Try as I may to think of him I cannot,

I cannot any more than to think I am not thinking of him,

Nothing more.

Nothing more to do, nothing more to miss, nothing more to suffer,

I am not with him, nor waiting to be with him, nor have I just been with him,

There is no more him,

Now whole days are open to me, what to do with my time?

I have no need to wait for his text, there will be none,

I am liberated from the wait and it is surpringsly pleasant,

I do love him and I am free of him,

A prison I created with my love for him,

I created it and closed myself in it,

A prision? Yes, but I was willing,

Willing, not now. 

I don’t feel the loss, maybe layer,

Later I will cry or throw myself of a cliff,

Although there are no cliffs here,

What to do until then?

Until the emptiness kills me,

While I live my life in the pleasant emptiness of his absence?

To love him and  . . . Be in happiness without him,

Seems a betrayal,

To him most of all,

To love him and not to miss him,

To love him and not want him,

To love him and be free of him,

To love him and let him be free of me.