early days

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into

smitten

infatuated

obsessed

a crush 

adore

taken by

keen on

besotted

charmed

hooked

fond of

dazzled

intoxicated

wild about

enamoured

sweet on

mesmerised

but not

in love 

with

I may be kidding myself

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“I began to realize how important it was to be an enthusiast in life. He taught me that if you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.”

—	Roald Dahl

Confession

Today,
you asked a question
I have not contemplated
for years.

Did I think my depression was glamourous?
Initially? Certainly,
when you don't care if you live or die
and you are at a party
with friends and acquaintances
getting too drunk on cheap vodka from cheap flasks
and smoking spliffs in darkened back-yards
it is easy to romanticise the sadness,
to compare it to your favourite tv character.

But after a few months,
I hated it.
Because most of the time
I wasn't dolled up and misunderstood
most of the time I was pathetic and miserable.

I was trying to understand how and why
I had ever been happy.
I was embarrassed that I felt this way for no good reason.
And I was afraid that I was going to feel this way forever.
I spent two years trying and failing to remember the person I was
and wondering if i would always be this way.
Most of the time,
I was fucking terrified
and hopeless
and exhausted
and anxious
and just very, very sad.

This is my best explanation.

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You are a breath of fresh air.
My lungs have never tasted so sweet.

relax into yourself

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at the end
when it all washes away
all the pretence
and jealousy
and the grains of other people
that grip to your skin like sand
you are left with yourself
find her
remember her
learn to love her

The Beginning of the End

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The fluorescent light from the bathroom presses greys and blues into the shadows of the darkened room. I'm lacing our fingers under the duvet.
"Maybe two weeks." He says.
"You're kidding!" I react, "Please- tell me that you're kidding!"
"I'm joking," he laughs, "maybe three months- maybe more."
I smile at him. "I can't imagine sleeping with anyone else."
"Me neither."
I kiss his hand.
"I don't want to break up yet." His last word dominates the sentence. My stomach hurts.
"Me neither."
As we lie against one another I contemplate the shift that has occurred between us. For the first time in a long time I can feel the edges of myself. For the first time in my memory, I feel lonely.
"I love you." He says, it sounds different. For reasons I don't fully understand I want to cry. I can't see his face in the dark but I can feel his gaze, he's waiting.
"I love you, too."Is it me or does it sound lighter?
My cunt is still wet with his saliva.



In six months I will break up with you. And I will wait two weeks.  It will mean something. 

Letterhead #17

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Dear Jack,

I am so, so sorry I fell out of love with you.

If it means anything, I didn't want to fall out of love.

But I just…I felt so far away from myself.

I tried so much to make it work. And I did for a while. 

And we were happy.

I was the perfect girlfriend. But I wasn't me.

I fell out of love with you when I fell in love with myself.

And that's when I stopped wanting to try.

It's not your fault and it's not mine.

We both changed until we stopped suiting each other.

Thank-you for being the perfect first love.

I hope we can still stay friends.

With love,

shy

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Happiness doesn't start anywhere.
It lingers in your soul even when its breathing is so quiet you mistake it for the ocean on the other side of the world, it is there.

Food, water, shelter.

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She no longer takes care of herself.
You can see the sun through her skin, it's too thin (like eyelids). It won't hold a shadow.
Her hands are soft and pink and splotchy.
She won't stop trying to distract herself.
She won't turn and face her troubles instead of continuing these futile attempts to ignore them.
Somebody tell her to get a grip.
Caring for yourself takes more than this.
It's time to wake up.

Letterhead #16

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Dear Jack,
I'm lonely when I'm with you.
Not always, but often.
I try so hard not to be sad around you.
Or if I am sad, not to let it show.

I don't want to tie my sadness to you.
Tie you to my sadness.
I told you that, once.
You said something like:
I'm sorry that you're sad, but it doesn't affect my mood.
You wanted to reassure me.
It did.
But it also made me feel
so
incredibly
lonely.
Sometimes I feel so lonely it feels as though I'm trying to breathe in Carbon Dioxide. 
Because, you're my person, and even you don't understand.
It was different when I was alone.
I was better at caring for myself.
Less focussed on you.
Less soft.
It was better.
I don't know if I can get better with you.
I can't breathe.

It's getting to the point where I am no fun anymore, I am sorry. / Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud, ' I am lonely.' / I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are, you make it hard.

-David Crosby

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