too hot, too greedy

i love him in all the desperate forms,

like showing up when he doesn't want to see me, like trying to stop him from leaving and pleading with him while he demands I stay away

i love him in the war,

 when throwing things and during screaming matches, when we tell each other all those awful things

i love him in those dirty ways, 

when his mouth and hands claim me, and in all the secret things we say

i love him  playfully, 

my best friend with all the inside jokes 

i love him loudly 

i love him quietly

i'm not gigi anymore

A few years ago I posted a blog entry titled "I don't want to be Gigi anymore," or something along that line. I was referring to Gigi from He's Just Not That Into You. She's the narrator, and well, she's a hopeless romantic, an optimist, and somewhat naive. She reads into everything men do and say and makes something out of nothing because she desperately wants to meet "the one." I remember wanting to be "the exception" for some guy. I wanted to be the reason some emotionally detached man learns how to love and changes himself to be a better man.
I just watched the movie again after a few years and I just don't connect to Gigi anymore. It's interesting how things change with time.

I feel more like an Alex these days.
"If a guy is treating you like he doesn't give a shit, he genuinely doesn't give a shit. No exceptions."

crushes

Crushes are strange, one day you're completely normal just minding your own business, and the next: they just suddenly appear there, always in the back of your mind. They're a super unique person, and you want to know what it's like to kiss them, and you want to hang out with them all the time. I hate that the most. Wanting to be around someone more often.

Crushes are just inconvenient.
Luckily for me, all my crushes have a short life span.

find something you're passionate about

and keep tremendously interested in it.

I was watching Julie & Julia the other night. One of my inspirations is Julia Child. Of course I admire everything she accomplished, but what I admire most is her boisterous personality, and her relationship with her husband, Paul Child, is the kind of relationship I hope to have someday.
The fact that Julie Powell found the motivation to go through 524 recipes in one year AND write about it each day is also inspiring. Watching Julie & Julia always makes me think I could also master the art of french cooking, but let's be real, I still can't pronounce 'beef bourguignon,' nor do I have the most minimal intention of ever boning a duck or murdering and dismembering a crustacean . The only thing I have in common with Julie is that I like to blog. I haven't been writing much this year but you know, as I watched the movie I decided that I was going to give myself a goal, to just write everyday. No matter how small an entry, no matter how pointless an entry it could be. The point is to keep the habit going.

On second thought, Julia Child was 32 when she started cooking, so who knows, maybe next year will be my year.

where my love grows

I've found that I expend much more energy
pretending I don't long for certain things.
Like the way I used to pull words from my chest. I'd imagine the words dropping like petals off some flower in me, the "loves me, loves me not" in my mind. In the end it's never been about whether I am loved or not, it's the anticipation of the answer that matters. It's where my love grows. I could even make love out of the disillusionment when the answer was "not."

It has been much more draining not being able to express the things that hurt, the things I miss, and the things I yearn for, and I'm not even sure how I came to be this quiet.
But I hope this is the first step in finding the words.

that's the thing about loving someone who doesn't love you anymore

There's no emergency escape plan. You just fucking stay there, stupid and sad, waiting for the day you realize you think about them a little less often.


I was just listening to music when the thought occurred to me.

i promise that i love you

i just don't know how to show it. i don't know how to write it in perfect sentences.

how do i explain the electric currents under my skin when you're near?
because the feeling is more than words, it's sounds and colors like radio static and kaleidoscopic patterns.
my heart bursts if you touch me, and i think it should be a painting.
my lungs puncture and my ribs collapse every time you look at me, and all my pieces are beautiful like found art.

the places we've been should be monuments and our nights together are national holidays with lighted skies and picnic tables.

by Margarita Romero