I know what he smells like. I know how soft and thick his hair is. I know how smooth his skin feels on his face, and how rough when I run my fingers in the other direction. I know how fast his stubble grows, and where his bald patches are. I know how long his eye lashes are and how his deep brown eyes look when he’s excited. 

But I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who he’s with. I don’t know what he’s been doing or what’s been on his mind. I don’t know if he ever thinks of me. I don’t know if he’s aware of how I hurt, as if my chest has been hollowed out. Empty, yet heavy. I don’t know if he’s happy. I don’t know if I want him to be…

I’d give anything just to run my hands through his hair tonight; breathe him in; wrap my arms around him and slowly plant kisses across his big shoulders and down his back. I’d hold on so tight.

Why can’t he just feel the same?

I wonder if he knows I still think he’s magic. I wonder if one day I won’t.


 Does looking past a person’s flaws, working with them, making allowances for them make us more selfless, more worthy of that person’s love? Or does it make us a mug? At what point do we cross the line from caring into foolish?

My older brother and his girlfriend have just got engaged. A few months back things were a bit rocky between them. When she met my brother she had just come out of a pretty terrible relationship, the impact of which didn’t hit her until the new-romance-honeymoon-phase was over. So, understandably, trust issues she had buried started to resurface, she pushed my brother away. Things were hot and cold for a while (but never turned nasty). Anyway… you’re probably wondering why this is relevant. Now that they’re engaged and officially moving in together, she said to me that she’s just so glad that he put up with her shit (I’m sure she actually worded it much nicer than that but my memory fails me – that was the jist of it anyway). … (is jist a real word?! You guys know what I mean, right?)

SO. My brother put up with the hot and cold; he understood she was going through a hard time, working through some issues, and it paid off. She appreciates him for doing that and they’re going to live happily ever after (which is lovely but I wish they’d stop with the baby talk… Have they asked me if I’m ready to be an auntie? NO! How selfish of them…).

But how long do we put up with that for? A few months? A year? 3 years? Is that love? Is that like, accepting somebody for who they are, warts ‘n all? Or do we only do this expecting the person to eventually change? And is it really so bad to want somebody to change? If we have entered into a relationship with somebody, then obviously we like them as a person, we recognise all of the good in them… but as we get to know them better, as we invest more of ourselves into the relationship, we will discover things that could use a little adjustment. I don’t think that’s so awful. As long as you don’t want to change the person’s personality… or something fundamental about who they are. I mean, there’s definitely things about myself that I’ve changed for the sake of a relationship and I’m a better person for it! We all need called out on our bullshit sometimes and often we need to adjust things about ourselves in order to get along better with others. But it takes two… it takes compromise.

How long do we wait for recognition?

Are we lovers or just fools?

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How do you love?

This isn’t how I love – quietly, from a distance.

I love by waking up beside you in the middle of the night and immediately pulling you close. By running my hands over your body in appreciation of every part of you. By rubbing your feet with mine under the covers, because I know it makes you smile. By making all my best plans with you, by saving my spare time for you, by sitting peacefully beside you in the evening then staying up far too late listening to your thoughts in the darkness, always learning something new, in awe of how your mind works. I tell you about every little part of my day that you might find the smallest amusement or intrigue in. I place my entire body on top of yours and wrap myself around you, accidentally tangle you in my hair and breathe you in. I hold your hand, I eat with you, I share with you, I think of you, I endeavor to understand you. My fingers trace your tattoos, my lips trace your collar bone.

I can’t love you over the phone. I can’t give you all of me in one night. What do you want me for, if it’s not my love? There is better company, more beauty, less complicated minds for you – but no deeper love. That is what I offer, why am I here if you don’t want it?
It’s not enough for me to be your Saturday night. I want to be there for it all – and you don’t have the time to let me.
How can you say you miss me then shoot me down?
How can you say you love me and go days choosing not to contact me at all?
How is this enough for you now?
All these promises of next week, next year, one day… they keep me rooted here. How long until you have the time for the way I love?

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Last time I blogged about him, I wrote that things were going stale between us. My birthday is coming up and to celebrate we booked a night in The Merchant (weeks ago, when things were looking a little brighter). The past couple of weeks, as our hotel-date was nearing, I was feeling really disappointed that I wasn’t actually staying there alone. All I wanted to do was lie on a giant bed, in some new lingerie, with a glass of wine, a book, WiFi, maybe have a bath and eat some chocolate. What I really didn’t want, was the two of us sitting on the bed together, feeling awkward and sad…

He had plans with his friends last weekend so I didn’t see him at all and didn’t text him, ’cause I’m tired of chasing him. So it was 5 whole days before he got in touch. It made me feel like shit and I was dreading our night in the Merchant. We had plans for Thursday night so on Wednesday I simply text him to say “Let’s try and have fun tomorrow night – things have been a bit weird the last couple of times we seen each other.” My heart sank at his reply:

“I feel like we’re drifting apart tbh. We barely see each other and when we do it’s not like it was before.”

After asking for me back, was he seriously doing this to me again? I couldn’t even be angry at him, I was just disappointed in myself for letting this happen. I knew the odds were against us and I just had to try anyway. But he went on to tell me that he hadn’t changed his mind about us, he’s trying to fit me in as much as he can and he finds it ‘weird’ to be affectionate as we’re not really in a relationship yet. Note the word yet – at least that’s positive I guess. He said it just doesn’t feel natural yet.

Honestly, I am so done trying to understand him. I don’t fucking get him, at all, one little bit. My friend and I tried to analyse the situation over tea and cake. We usually set the world to the rights when we’re together! We think we have everybody sussed! But we came up with nothing. He’s an enigma, to put it nicely. Anyway, I left things at that. I didn’t even wanna talk about it. I didn’t want him to say any more and I knew there was no conclusion to reach by discussing it. We were at an impasse. Neither of us had the answer.

The next day it flitted through my mind like a dream when you’re only half asleep. I’d completely forget and then it would appear again. We were to see each other that night and I was not prepared to give up my evening for an awkward encounter that makes me feel unwanted and unloved. I mean, I could’ve been at the gym feeling like a bad ass! So I had a thought… If I want affection, fun, laughs, kisses, comfort, maybe I just have to take it? Just fucking demand it. Stop letting him make me feel that way. As soon as I thought of it I dismissed it – why should I have to take it? Why should have to put so much effort into this and let him away with just going with the flow? He was the one who asked me back – surely he should be treating me like a fucking Queen?!

But that wasn’t an option. I can’t control him. I can’t make him give me what I want; I can’t sit back and just let happiness come to me. I decided to take it. I wasn’t gonna just stand by and do nothing and let this die – I choose to be the defibrillator to our relationship. I showed up on Thursday night and brought him pumpkin pie (I made a fucking pumpkin pie! #wifeymaterial) and I grabbed him and kissed him hard. I stayed upbeat and happy, I didn’t allow any awkward silences, I joked, I held his hand, I was playful. And he responded. FINALLY! 

Just like that, we were back to being us again. And he genuinely seemed just as thankful for it as I was. *Sidenote – I know I start far too many sentences with ‘and’ – sorry for my poor writing, that’s just how things sound in my head :/ *

So the last few days have been much better and honestly, I’m really looking forward to our night away now (but very much not looking forward to turning 25). It’s a huge relief! I’m glad I didn’t let my stubbornness stop me from making the effort. I wish I could understand why he didn’t do it for me (for us), but at least I know if things still fizzle out, it’s not because I stood by and let them. I have plenty of flaws, but he’ll never be able to walk away from me saying that I didn’t fight for him. That’s one promise I never broke.

Anyway, I hope you all had a spooky Hallowe’en! 1st November! Let the countdown to Christmas begin :/
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When he broke up with me all I could think about was how happy we could be if we gave things another shot. All the things I needed to ‘fix’ about myself seemed  so easy to do when the relationship was at stake. I thought I could be perfect for him and he would love me the way he did at the beginning – back when he was proud to be seen with me.

When he got back in touch and said he wanted to give things another go I thought that, with a little time, we would fall head over heels for each other again. We’d go back to ‘dating’ and it would feel new and exciting like before. But it’s been a little while now and the reality is that we go days without speaking to each other, we hang out like we’re just friends way too often, he doesn’t kiss me and of course he doesn’t love me.

Why doesn’t he want to kiss me anymore? He wants to see me and make plans with me. He has no problem sleeping with me. He says all the right things… But when it comes down to it, he doesn’t want to kiss me. I mean, he isn’t grimacing everytime I come at him with a pout – he doesn’t seem to mind kissing me back, but the kiss is never his idea.

Now that we aren’t living together we have to schedule time to see each other and my friends who are living with their other halves think this is great – it means planning things and getting dressed for one another – Not sitting around in PJs, eating dinner in front of the TV and nodding off on the sofa, which can easily become the only quality time couples spend together when you both work full time. But that’s not really how it goes. With his (very) busy schedule we mostly just sit at his mum’s house and watch netflix and UFC until the early hours then go to bed. I mean, I can do that and not be kissed at my own house. I don’t mind sitting in infront of the TV on a Saturday night but if I’m not getting any cuddles or even much conversation, why am I there? What’s he even inviting me over for?

I’m not stressing too much over it. It is what it is and que sera, sera. My life doesn’t revolve around him anymore and that’s for the best. I’m just sad to lose that passion and love we once had for each other. The strange thing though, is how normal it seems to be to not be affectionate with one another. Friends in long term relationships tell me they’ll go days without kissing their man. Few of them spend much ‘quality’ time with them at all – choosing instead to go out with friends or something.

Is complacency in a relationship just to be expected? Is every day together just another step toward apathy? Is growing apart the only way to grow?

I love so much the idea of marriage and I crave a deep, passionate, all-consuming, inconvenient love – but it’s hard to believe that this exists without an expiration date. I really hope it can. I hope the relationships that I see are a product of our lifestyle and society and that we can all overcome it. Stop letting everything else get in the way of the one thing that all else seems to fall apart without – that one person in the centre of our universe that,  we’re so used to seeing, often gets looked straight past.

Take it from A&B:

There’s a thing called love, that we all forget…

And it’s a wasted love, that we all regret…

You live your life just once, so don’t forget about a thing called love.

And if you can’t love somebody anymore, fucking let them go find somebody who can. Don’t tease them with netflix and chill and empty promises. Just figure out your damn feelings UGH!

And if anybody else is feeling weird tonight, I highly recommend eating pecan pie and singing along to Above and Beyond, because (despite how I appear in this post) I am sitting here quite content right now. I have gemütlichkeit from my pie ^___^

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I act like shit don’t faze me – inside it drives me crazy. My insecurities could eat me alive…

Quelle surprise, the angry blonde’s an Eminem fan. I bet loads of us can relate to these lyrics…

Don’t be mistaken, there’s a lot in life that truly doesn’t faze me. People say I’m cool (in the calm sense, I’m not just boasting that I’m trendy here). Especially in work, they say I’m cool as a cucumber – I never get stressed! That’s not coolness that’s total apathy. I just don’t care enough to give me any sort of energy to react. Maybe that’s what makes me cool? Not caring about stuff? If so, I need a chill pill for my love life.

I’m trying so hard to take things slow with him and play it cool (5th time using that, somebody throw me an adjective), but it really is an act. I don’t feel cool at all, I feel fucking stressed out! Constantly reading in to everything he says – even more so to the things he doesn’t say! Imagining every possible scenario from the plausible to the downright absurd. I feel so out of control and it’s horrible! I never even knew I had control issues until the breakup. Why am I so different with him than I am in every other aspect of my life? Why does he kill my cool?

Every little thing that happens between us, as minor as him not texting me back, sends my brain into overdrive. My mouth stays shut (at least I finally mastered that part!) but my mind completely overreacts and becomes so irrational. It really goes full Kanye:

Then there’s something telling me to fucking chill before I scare him off again. Isn’t that ridiculous? This guy used to love me and now I’m perpetually afraid of ‘scaring him off’; which isn’t the right expression, really. He won’t leave me ’cause he’s scared, it’ll be because he can’t be bothered putting up with me. I’m the one who’s scared.

I just wish we could rewind and go back to acting and feeling the way we did before, when we were happy and in love. He teases me with glimmers of nostalgia; like when I stayed at his a couple nights ago, in the middle of the night he put his arm around my waist and pulled me across the bed into him for a big squeeze and a spoon. I fell back to sleep with the biggest smile on my face. How could I ever walk away from that?

No, I couldn’t. So I gotta learn to keep cool. Oh you’re too busy to send me a text all day? That’s ok no big deal. Midnight spooning sessions? Nah sorry I didn’t even notice. You wanna book a trip to Paris? Sure whatever.

Is this how the whole ‘treat ’em mean keep ’em keen’ thing works? Do boys like this? Cause it seems boring as fuck to me. And stressful too! My little over active brain can’t cope with these games *sigh* I think I’ll shut down for the weekend…

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Time to come clean…

So I just typed up a whole post about how busy I’ve been and all the lovely things I’ve been up to… When I called myself on my bullshit and deleted it to tell you the real reason I’ve gone AWOL.

A couple of weeks ago I got a text from him. It was 2.30 a.m. (so I could safely deduce that he’d been drinking) ‘Are you awake?’  Strangely, I had woke up a few seconds before and sat up to look at my phone and check what time it was, just as the text came in (coincidence or sixth sense?!). Anyway, cue hyper-ventilating and my heart almost exploding out of my chest… Was this what I’d been waiting for? When he tells me it’s all been a huge mistake and he loves me and wants to get married and live happily ever after and buy me some louboutins to apologise?! (Too far?) ‘Yes’  I replied, he came back with ‘How are you?’

How am I? You text me at 2.30a.m. on a Monday to see how I am? Nah mate. I replied ‘I really don’t want to make small talk with you. Why are you texting me at 2.30 in the morning?’ , I wasn’t fucking about. But I must have scared him off because he told me to forget it and didn’t reply to me again. Needless to say I didn’t get any more sleep that night, over-analysing every possible meaning The Text could have. The next day, when I showed a couple of friends the messages (god bless screenshots <3), one told me to forget about it and the other told me to chase it up. She said he obviously wanted to speak to me and I’d spooked him off. True, he probably wasn’t expecting my retort. I text him again about 10pm just saying that if he was interested in a real conversation to let me know. Again, he’d been drinking, and sent me all these messages about how he’s missed me, he hasn’t forgotten about me, things are getting harder instead of easier, he’s depressed over it… I’m still baffled by it to be honest. He told me to my face that he will never want to be with me again and he was ready to not have me in his life anymore. I think my brain’s going to mush from the amount of times he’s flipped things on me 180!

He seemed genuinely upset. And it upset me to think of him hurting… Despite this having been what I wanted the past three months – for him to come back and prove it was all real. My heart didn’t flutter the way I thought it would, I don’t want him to be sad. I agreed to meet him the next night.

We met at the beach and sat in my car (no romantic walks for this dysfunctional couple!). Oddly, I wasn’t nervous. And it even felt as if we hadn’t been apart at all… It still felt weird though. Just in a different way. We could be friendly with each other, talk, laugh… but it was weird to just act like friends. It was weird to tell each other about what we’ve been doing without each other. He said he wants to start seeing each other again to see what happens, but there’s no guarantees that he will want to get back together.

This is why I’ve been putting off posting about it – because it sounds so ridiculous for me to put myself in that position again, to risk having my heart broken by the same man a third time. But, of course, that’s exactly what I’ve done. In my defense – so far it seems to be going well. The first time we hugged and then kissed each other again, I really felt as though he had missed me. It felt genuine. Since then we’ve spent time together doing the things we used to love, a fancy lunch in Ox in Belfast, staying up all night with wine and chocolate to watch UFC, a beautiful walk and hot chocolate at Mount Stewart… tonight we went for sushi and then to the cinema, tomorrow we’re having a mini BBQ by the fire pit in his mum’s garden (she’s away on holiday).

My friends have mixed opinions, some think I’m crazy, some are happy and hopeful for me. I’m too nervous to tell my parents… but I’m not sure what’s stopping him from telling his. I guess neither of us know where this is going, which should scare me. It should really, really scare me. But instead I have a fucked up sense of calm… I’m feeling really happy and inspired again. Which makes me mad at myself! I was supposed to be learning to define my self-worth without his opinion. And yet, since finding out that he’s been missing me all this time, I feel like myself again. It’s like when you’ve been out in the cold in the middle of winter and when you come inside and sit by the fire it takes ages before you get the heat into your body again. It’s like thawing out, I’m finally warming up again after months of being out in the cold. It’s so fucked up. Why does he have so much control over my happiness?

Because of this, I’m probably making a huge mistake, but I have to take the chance. Like I’ve said before, I’m a big romantic. Maybe we’re meant to be together. Maybe it’s going to mean taking a big risk, and working really hard, but it’ll be worth it… That much seems clear to me. So why do I feel like I’m doing something wrong? I’m honestly nervous to post this and find out your reactions! I hope to god that isn’t my subconscious trying to tell me something.

I really miss being in love. It feels like I don’t have a choice but to try. But I’ll just be so broken if he can’t love me back.

In other news, my new dress is so cute I had to buy it in TWO colours! Check it out, along with pics of my first autumn walk, to make up for the lack of pretty pictures at the beginning of this post (nothing seemed suitable except maybe a picture of a dunce cap!):
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P.S. Dresses are from ASOS btw, cute, right?!

Red eyes, blue heart

So I haven’t posted in a few days, kind of trying to stop being so negative but honestly I’m not exactly feeling positive just yet so that means just kind of keeping my feelings inside. And sleeping at every given opportunity… which leads to a lot of nightmares, fyi!

I have actually had a rather busy week which was good cause every distraction is welcome! But I was mentally exhausted by Friday night and cried about four times in the cinema… twice before the movie even started. I feel like keeping busy should be helping me to move on and switch off my brain but it’s still always working overtime in the background. It’s like on the outside I look fine, and I’m functioning and I’m smiling but inside I’m being eaten alive by the seven dwarves: Doubt, Self-loathing, Loneliness, Misery, Malaise, Rage and Despair. (BTW if anyone is interested, I saw Straight Outta Compton in the cinema – amazing! Go see it!)

The thing is, it’s really hard moving forward when I don’t know what I’m advancing to anymore. I wasn’t exactly happy before I met him. Even as a child I remember being sad, lonely, lost, nervous, self conscious and feeling like I was waiting for something to happen. This feeling of waiting just became more and more overwhelming the older I got and I tried to abate it with drugs and alcohol (which of course does not work). Then all of a sudden I fell for him and that was it – it had happened. I was now as happy and confident and downright euphoric as I had been lost and lonely for all those years. Don’t get me wrong I still had bad days, and weeks… and due to a multitude of things 2015 was a bad year but in general I was happy. I was happy with myself, with my life, with my relationship, my routine. I was a happy person, I wasn’t waiting for something anymore, I was living it, it was happening.

So now I can’t take comfort in the idea that “oh you were happy before him you’ll be happy again!” because I genuinely wasn’t. But even then I had the hope that whatever it was I was waiting on (I had no idea at the time that it would be him) would come. Now… it’s come and gone. What if I have peaked? What if that was it? What if it isn’t all OK in the end? What if we just tell ourselves that so we don’t all fucking top ourselves when we have our hearts crushed beyond repair? What if I’m nothing special and I don’t deserve shit (that none of us deserve shit), it’s all just pot luck and circumstance and this is the card I’ve been dealt and there’s nothing that I, or anyone else, or the universe can do about it?

I’m keeping busy, I’m focusing on other things, I’m doing the things I’m supposed to do but I’m not happy – just distracted. My eyes are still full of tears every single day even when I’m smiling, and my thoughts are still fucking full of him.

This blog was supposed to be the place where I just pour my heart out without worrying that I was inconveniencing people because, well, if you get sick of it you can just stop reading (you lucky ducks) whereas if I’m talking to an actual human being it’s a wee bit harder for them to just slowly walk away while I’m mid-rant. But with a few regular readers and knowing that a couple friends read my shit too, I’m now even worrying about leaving my feelings here! But I have to do something with them ’cause carrying them about all day is so fucking tiring. They’re heavy – writing this, in a strange way, is kind of like putting them down for a little while.

I don’t even have a point with this post; I’m not able to round it up to any general consensus or humorous conclusion. My head is fucked, my eyes are red, my body is heavy and every time I dream I can still feel just as much heartache as when I’m conscious. There’s still no relief and it’s hard pretending that it’s getting better and there’s only so long people can sympathise with you for and I feel like a fucking dick.

Now I’m going to watch Celebrity Big Brother (my very, very guilty pleasure). At least I’m not as big a dick as that Teen Mom Farah chick, ugh she’s insufferable! Sorry to anyone who’s sick and tired of me being sick and tired…

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P.S. He liked one of my Instagram pictures. Like, what the fuck?! GET OUT OF MY LIFE YOU DEVIL

Negative thought for the night 

When is trying not enough anymore?

How long can a person try their best before other people give up waiting for them to be good enough?

We’re always told ‘as long as you try your best’, but in real life, trying your best doesn’t always reward you. Sometimes it just screams at you ‘YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH’, and eventually your chances run out. Even if you’re improving, even if you’re slowly but surely becoming better, time does run out. Then what does it even matter if you’re better? You’re still not enough.

I didn’t have to try very hard at school. I could get a B in most subjects with minimal effort. One year I had to study Spanish. I didn’t like my teacher and that year I was too concerned with feeling feelings and overthinking about them to care much about anything else. You all remember what those teenage years are like… A blur of hormones and underage drinking. At the end of the year we were all sitting in class when we received our final grades. A lovely big E plonked itself on my desk – I didn’t give a shit. The bubbly, preppy, gorgeous, looked at least 3 years older than the rest of us mere children, highly intelligent, super friendly, all singing, all dancing (literally, she was both a singer and a dancer), head-girl to be leaned across to me to ask my grade. I don’t think you need me to tell you what hers was… I showed her my E, not proud yet unashamed. She gave me a kindly, sympathetic look – though how she could sympathise with a bad grade I’ll never know! Maybe she came 2nd once in a Britney impersonating competition and could remember the sting of not being good enough. “At least you tried your best!” She said.

Ehh, no I didn’t. I didn’t try in the slightest. If I had of I would’ve done just fine. In fact I even went on to learn Spanish to A-Level standard in just one year at uni. ¡Te lo dije!

Fast forward to adulthood and I have to try every fucking day. I tried so hard to be good enough for him. He didn’t believe me. I was constantly trying to reach a point that was too far away for me to even see; I just kept going in the blind faith that the finish line did in fact exist. I didn’t reach it on time. He had enough of me trying my best and he will move on to somebody who doesn’t even need to try. Does that make them better for him than I was?

Now I feel as though I have to try my absolute hardest to make myself so good that he regrets his decision one day, be it years from now. But what if I never get there? When I’m laying on my death bed is ‘oh well, at least I tried’ really going to comfort me from the fact that I know absolutely, wholly, 100% that I’m not and never would be good enough?

Sometimes I think I’d feel better if I were sitting back at my desk in Spanish class, satisfied in the idea that I could have if I’d wanted to – whether it was the truth or not. And yet still I’m trying, exhausted, still trudging toward the supposed finish line. Why?

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