Irrationality

I have a fear. I have several fears actually, cockroaches, supernatural happenings, sometimes the dark to name a few. While these are also irrational, I have one more irrational fear. It’s a little more recent, and a little more depressing than the rest. I’m terrified that I will always be alone purely because I cannot bring myself to be truly comfortable around anybody.

Before anybody states that I’m too young to truly know about these things, I’m always hoping I’ll be proved wrong. But it’s a recurring situation, and now it’s placed itself as another major fear on one of the many shelves of irrational fears in my mind. It’s right next to my fear of embarrassment and trust issues.

No matter what I do, at least now, I will never be comfortable around a significant other. This much I know for sure. I’m too worried, paranoid, afraid. What if he leaves? What if he gets tired? What if he’s simply pretending?

My best friend can lay her life down for me and I will probably still worry that what I say to her spirit will make her leave.

My parents have dedicated their lives to me and I simply cannot bring myself to express my discomfort in some situations. I will never tell them that I don’t actually want to come back to them, that I don’t truly feel comfortable in the home they have built for me, that I’m too scared they’ll judge my vocal abilities.

I drown myself in fantasy worlds and perfect romances. I drown myself in the perfect world that Instagram loves showing me. I revel in the perfection of conversations over text because for a while I can pretend like I’m not restraining myself and deleting five responses before sending in my final reply. I lose myself in front of the mirror hoping that maybe I would be comfortable with my own reflection. I sing softly even in an empty house. Dance carefully even when I know nobody is watching.

And maybe one day, I won’t.

Maybe one of these days I’ll be comfortable enough to simply cry when I need to. Maybe I will actually eat something instead of sipping on a drink. Maybe I’ll sing when I’m around my family. Maybe my shoulders will not be tense and I will sleep without worrying about how it looks. Maybe I’ll tell them what I’m really thinking instead of hiding behind pretty metaphors and stories with too much of myself in them.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to throw this irrational fear off of my shelf.

 

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A Minute

11:11.

My heart drops.

I know what I’m going to wish for and hate myself for it. That whole minute is spent trying to not say his name and failing. Over and over again, it is chanted, almost in reverence. That minute is spent eyes clenched, trying to stop the tears from spilling out, as every moment spent with him flashes through my mind. A kaleidoscope of memories, overwhelming, doubling and tripling everything I see, yet he stays singular.

The smell of blueberry smoke and Gucci perfumes surrounds me once more; I can almost taste the clove cigarettes he smokes. For that entire minute, is name becomes my mantra, my only connection to reality as I vividly feel the breeze against my cheek from the drives we used to take. Tears burn my eyes as I can almost hear his laughter. Memory after memory plays through my mind’s eye in this minute and it’s almost ridiculous how well I can remember the exact shade of honey his eyes were. The hours spent simply talking flit through my mind, soft voices, innocent touches. The night spent simply existing in each others presence, making time stand still if only just for a few minutes. When the moment ends I open my eyes, wipe away the tears and take a deep breath.

It is now,

11:12.

Dear Best Friend,

Dear Best Friend,

I miss you so much.

I was so excited the day I got that acceptance letter that I called you the minute I got it. That night I cried because I realised that it meant leaving you. You convinced me that what I was doing was in my best interest. You knew why I was moving away. If it weren’t for you I would’ve simply backed out.

In the three days that I’ve been here, I’ve found myself wishing I had.

Everything here reminds me of you. My morning coffee especially. You would’ve loved the campus and probably danced with me in the rain that I detest. The homesickness might have never existed with you here. We could’ve sat by the lake and had you scream at me for not taking good pictures. I could’ve pointed out hot guys to you, or drank coffee in familiar silence. I keep comparing the people I meet to you, and I can see some parts of you in some of them, but they aren’t you. They’ll never be you. How can they match up to you? God, I miss you.

My darling best friend, I cried last night because I realised that regardless of how much we try you’ll never be able to experience college with me. One of the most exciting times in our lives and we’ve been pulled apart yet again.

They say long distance hurts, and I truly agree with them.

I love you so much that it hurts and being away from you hurts even more.

Love,
Your best friend

Koi No Yokan

Koi No Yokan (Japanese):  The sudden knowledge upon meeting someone that the two of you are destined to fall in love.

Love at first sight exists.

I refuse to hear otherwise.

It was love at first sight when I saw my dog,

It was love at first sight when I saw those kittens on the road,

It was love at first sight when my mother when she first looked at me,

It was love at first sight when I first saw that dusty old bookstore,

It was love at first sight when my father saw my mother,

It was love at first sight when I first saw you.

Thank you for reminding me that,

Love at first sight exists.

Stars

“I’ve always wanted a star,” she says looking up.

The sky is dark blue ink with specks of glitter. She wished she could dip a quill into the sky. If she wrote with the sky, would her words finally be worth something?

“You can actually buy stars you know?” She starts off again, turning to look at him. He’s not looking at her as he brings the cigarette to his lips. She mimics his movements, letting the smoke flow out as she sighs. She should’ve expected this, it was foolish to have hoped for something different. Unfortunately, she was as foolish as thy came. Hope and infatuation were the sole reason she existed some days.

“I was going to buy some, and then I realised I couldn’t,” she continued regardless, turning her attention back to the sky. She raised the cigarette to her lips once more. A deep breath in, the heady rush of tobacco in, a little bit of pain exhaled out. She was baring a little part of her to him, he didn’t seem to notice as he looked out.

“I’ll buy you one,” he says with a calm smile. His body language betraying what he so desperately wanted to hide. He shifts from foot to foot, he fixes his hair distractedly and takes another few drags of the cigarette before crushing it in the tray with a noise of irritation. He wants to leave. The realisation hits her like a tonne of bricks.

“We need some music,” he said pulling out his phone, “ listen closely to this one.”

Her head is still reeling from his previous statement, the alcohol she’s consumed not helping her case either, but she nods nonetheless.

As the song plays she swears that it’s a confession of some sort. There’s no way it can’t be. A gasp leaves her as the chorus plays, her heart skips a beat and tears burn her eyes. She doesn’t dare look at him now.

Pain hits her as the song ends. That’s a love confession of some sort, and nothing could convince her otherwise. She finally looks at him, bitter smile on her face,

“Thank you,” she finally breathes.

Overwhelmed by some sort of emotion, she reaches out and pulls him close. She kisses him, pouring every bit of emotion into that single action. Did he understand it? He pulls away first,

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply picks up another cigarette and lights it up. She can’t look away from his eyes in the glow of the lighter’s flame. Golden brown framed by extensive eyelashes, eyes that might never mirror the intensity of hers. Eyes that aren’t meant to look at her with that intensity.

The song playing in the background fades away as they both put out their cigarettes. He turns to her with a face void of emotion. She’s never been able to tell what he’s thinking. But she knows he’s leaving and she desperately needs him to stay. She needs to make sure that she’s not making up the whole thing in her head. But she knows he can’t stay. Would he have stayed if he could?

Her hand lingers on his arm for a moment longer than it should have, her eyes follow him out. A sob tears itself from her throats when he’s out of sight. The calm that had previously settled around her, shatters like the illusion it is.

Maybe in another life, she could’ve have had him,

Maybe in some paradise, he could’ve held up his promise of giving her the stars.

Forelsket

Forelsket (Norwegian): The indescribable euphoria experienced as one begins to fall in love

 

I have wanted love all my life.

At the age of five love came in the form of my parents. Love came in the form of my grandmother fussing over my hair. Love was my grandfather slipping me chocolates and coffee when he thought my mother wasn’t looking. Love was pure and innocent.

At the age twelve, love came in the form of dashing princes, valiant heroes who would rescue me from an ivory tower. Love was also the boy who laughed without a care in the world across the classroom. Love was still innocent and pure. Love was still a colourful, shiny feeling that had never hurt me. It was love, how could it?

At the age of fifteen, I had been burnt by love. Love had run away when he realised I loved him. But that hadn’t been love, I had assured myself. Love wasn’t cruel, I told myself at night.

At the age of sixteen, I thought I had found love. Love had come in the form of the boy who kissed me a little awkwardly for the first time. Love had been the way he remembered the little things. Love had been the way simple walks down a quiet road were magical. Love had been the way I could rely on him to stay after a fight. Love had been the way held me. Love was still pure, and innocent. Love was still the prince who had come to save me from the ivory tower, he just looked different.

At the age of seventeen, love left. I cried and screamed, but then I realised it was for the best. I also realised that love hadn’t really left. I realised that love still existed when my best friend hugged me a little tighter. I realised love had stuck around when my friends didn’t give up on me despite all my efforts to distance myself. I realised love had never left when my mother hugged me when she saw my red eyes after a night of crying.

I am still seventeen. Now, I know slightly better than to simply label infatuation as love. Now, I’m slightly hesitant to simply give myself up. But I would for you.

Euphoria

euphoria: a feeling of great happiness that usually lasts for a short time only
Inexplicable happiness is what you feel when your best friend tells you she loves you out of the blue. It’s what you feel when you watch your parents jokingly bicker on the best way to cook an egg. It’s what you feel when you laugh with your best friends around you. It’s the same feeling you get when you watch your puppy bark for the first time or watch your cat chase a light around the house. It’s the feeling you get when you watch your dad struggle not to tear up at seeing your college acceptance letter. It’s starting your day with a mother’s hug. It’s hushed, late night conversations. It’s the feeling you get when you’re in your lover’s arms and they tighten their grip on you. It’s a fast car on a good night. It’s him next to you, with his arm around you, in a fast car on a good night. It’s the nights spent dancing in your room. And it’s the dark silent nights that feel like time has stopped for a bit. It’s watching horror movies with your friends. It’s just being with your cousin. It’s having a nice picture taken of you. It’s taking a nice picture of yourself. It’s cold coffees on hot days and ice creams you shouldn’t be eating on cold nights. It’s in spending an afternoon alone, and nights walking with your favourite person. It’s kissing the stranger with the eyes like yours.
It’s in the little things.

Kilig

Kilig – Tagalog – The heady-sublime rush you experience right after something good happens, particularly in love/dating. Like running into your crush, kissing someone for the first time, hearing someone you love tell you they love you too for the first time.

 

“I can make him laugh” the realisation struck me hard.

His laugh was contagious, and for another moment he was breathtaking. I just watched him laugh, I couldn’t have taken my eyes off of him if I had wanted to. When he looked at me after, I knew that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me either.

I don’t know why this is so important to me. I don’t know why he is so important to me.

He was supposed to be fleeting. He was supposed to be a beautiful moment in a kaleidoscope of beautiful moments. I was supposed to look into the kaleidoscope and not remember the exact shade his eyes were. He wasn’t supposed to burn me with a single touch. I was supposed to forget about the way he kissed me like he needed me to live. I was supposed to forget how soft his hair felt when I ran my hands through it and how hot his skin was under my touch. But I don’t want to forget the way he holds me tight, making sure that I know just how much he needs me close as well.

He was an impulse, who wasn’t meant to be anything more.

But as I kissed him again, no laughter in sight this time, I could tell he had become something more.

So, can somebody tell me when he became something more?

Kalopsia

Kalopsia: The delusion of things being more beautiful than they actually are.

 

“He tastes new,” was all I could think as I was kissing him.

The way he kissed was so different from you, the way he held me so foreign, his hands on my skin so unexpected.

It was perfect. He tasted of alcohol one minute, I coughed out smoke the next. I kissed away the stray tears, that appeared at the guilt I felt, and I kissed away my worries. I kissed him under the flashing lights and for a moment everything was so unbelievably perfect.

He wasn’t you, and he can never hope to be you. He can’t have my heart the way you do. He can’t make my stomach turn like you do. He may have kissed me breathless, but he could never take away my breath away like you still can.

He was everything I needed as he looked straight into my eyes with such unadulterated lust that I forgot you for a minute. He caressed my hair, and gently stroked my face. His eyes as dark as mine, and with just as much feeling in them. With the music humming in my veins, I found a little relief in his arms.

He tasted of coffee, in the end, addictive and sweet. He was kind, muttering promises that he was going to break and sweet nothings that were empty. My heart pained for a minute at the thought of leaving him, but the next minute he was erased from my mind. Just like I need you to be.

You can call me anything you want to, you can insult me all you want, you can talk about me all you want. You can be hot and cold and accuse me of every crime in the book and I’d still never be able to be mad at you. No matter how perfect the guy in front of me is, my mind will forever be on you.

Because, he may have been perfect, but he wasn’t you.

Sceptical​

Sceptical – Not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations

 

Paranoia pours herself another drink as she listens to what Trust has to say,

“We should tell her what’s happened, share our feelings, it’ll help us feel better in the end.”

Paranoia scoffs, twisting with a swish of her pitch black coat. An eyebrow raised she simply rolled her eyes at Trust’s childishness.

“But will it help us?” Doubt enquires, retouching her blood red lipstick, “Paranoia, tell her it’s not safe,”

“It’s not safe, Trust,” her heels click as she walks over to the sofa, “What about the judgement? What if she decides to leave when she finds out? What if she thinks we’re being clingy and desperate for attention?”

“It’s not worth the heartbreak Trust,” Doubt adds, brushing back Trust’s hair.

“I agree,” Fear says, entering the room, “It’s best we keep to ourselves.”

“I disagree,” Fear jumps as Love pops up behind her choosing to glare at the blonde.

“You’re irrational and blind to any consequences,” Anger pipes up from the corner of the room, her hands continuing to glide along the keys of the piano,” Remember what happened the last time you made decisions around here?”

“Hey! How could she have seen any of that coming?” Trust says.

“Exactly what we’re trying to tell you both,” Paranoia says calmly, “We don’t want any repeats of last time, do we?”

Silence falls over the room while Paranoia takes a sip of her whisky.

“We love her, we trust her, why not tell her?” Love says softly, tears threatening to fall.

Fear sighs and pulls Love into her arms,

“Because we’re scared of what will happen.”

Love simply held onto Fear as tears fell.

“I guess you guys are right,” Trust says, looking over at Doubt and Paranoia, “Last time was a mess, maybe I shouldn’t be making these decisions.”

“Glad you could see that Trust,” Doubt says, laying a manicured hand on her shoulder. Her sharp nails digging into Trust’s shoulder. Paranoia and Fear sighed in relief.

Brushing off her hand, Trust walked out of that room, mumbling excuse me’s. She opened the double doors and walked out as Guilt walked in, glassy-eyed and eerily silent. Her grey gown brushing the floor as she took a seat in the middle of the room.

“Oh no,” Fear said, backing away from Guilt, terror evident in her kohl-rimmed eyes.

“We’re going to have to live with her now,” Love piped up, pouring herself a drink, “Guilt won’t leave until Trust comes back.”

“I guess we are,” Paranoia said gripping her glass a little tighter,”Better get yourself another drink.”