Night owl

Night-Owl-Moon2For all and any of you that continually tell me to get to bed (to sleep)…I do actually have a valid reason, to tell you to put a lid on it.
DSPD-social jetlag mutation
They found out I had this years ago, and again recently, but I just never really remember to tell anyone, because it’s just a part of who I am. It doesn’t bother me, and you can make life work around it.
I get asked if I have insomnia, told to relax, or go to bed earlier, neither of which makes a difference.
But a few of you are probably nodding and saying “Ahh, yes, this makes sense now”…
It gets worse when you are stressed or adhering to an irregular schedule too. “Oohhhh, right…that explains even more”.

They say it’s commonly linked to and/or aggravated by anxiety, depression, cardiovascular problems, diabetes and a myriad of other things, but this is not always the case, and with only around 10 percent of the population confirmed with it, they have done a relatively small amount of research. Because it is technically just a ‘disorder’ or mutation (yeeeah, I’m a fucking X-Man!) there is no ‘cure’. There actually is, no rest for the wicked 😉

It means that my body clock runs differently to most, and that there are quite literally, not enough hours in a day, for it to make sense of it. You can regulate it somewhat if you try hard to get into a routine or remove yourself from the general distraction of Society and technology for a while, but the other facets of my personality make that very difficult, so I have just adjusted around it more often than not.
UntitledIt means that I love the night-time (which I think is pretty cool). It’s when I feel the most awake, and able to coherently communicate or create better. It means that I have absorbing thoughts and ideas at 2am, that I just ‘have’ to write down, draw, remember or say. It means that I have to force myself to go to bed on the off chance that I will sleep. I have always had mixed feelings of guilt and satisfaction for it. It also means that I am ‘not’ a morning person-quite literally.
84dc3ae760e5dc14b07949b33bfc1215That said, my body still reacts according to my situation. If I am excited about waking up to something or someone, I will often naturally wake up without prompting. If I have something important to do, or somewhere to be, I find it extremely hard to fall asleep, because my brain convinces me that I may not wake up in time, yet my eyes open 5 minutes before the alarm sounds. If I am sleeping in a strange or uncomfortable place, I will sleep lighter, and wake up earlier.

Anyway, so now you know a little more about me. Not only am I admittedly a touch psychotic, focused and determined…but also sleep deprived and running largely on caffeine most days. Pretty fucking scary thought huh?

Cheers Kids.
Here’s to being different enough, to not live the slow death of fitting in. 😉


Let them eat cake.

images-6Today I did an incredibly adult thing. Probably the most significantly adulty thing of all things. I had chocolate cake for breakfast! It was fabulous.

Now, I hear you say (with less than the respect in your tone, than should be given for the aforementioned action) how can this be an ultimate act of adulting? Well, I’m glad you asked. Here it is…

When we’re young, we can’t wait to ‘grow up’, to be adults, and be ‘allowed’ to do all the things that adults can do. We ponder having the ability to be in charge of ourselves, and to set our own rules. We abhor being told what to do, and the confines of childhood, parents and protectiveness. We endure going to school, learning, being educated, and being taught (and no, they’re not all just synonyms).
As kids, we try and get away with adult actions, or try to secretly fulfill our fantasies of what it will be like, when we can walk in heels, earn money, wear make-up, have sex, drive cars, drink alcohol, or elegantly puff on that long-stemmed cigarette like Audrey.

Adults say things like “Enjoy your childhood, while it lasts” and “School are the best days of your life”. Little do we realise that they are speaking from experience. That the days of being footloose and bill-free are limited, and soon enough, we will know why they say it. That the days of roaming the streets, sleepovers, unlimited parties and hanging out with your friends each day, come to an end.

When it all does start to happen, we realise, that the glamour wears off very quickly.
Earning money means getting a job, which means sacrificing time with friends, or weekends, or other things that enhance the quality of your life. Yet the vicious circle, is that without the job/money, we can’t afford the time.
Jobs also mean being re-educated, more learning and being taught.
Driving a car, means maintaining it, paying registration, fuelling it and keeping it clean.
Wearing make-up, means more learning, allergies, colour-matching, and more money.
Walking in heels, yet more learning, discomfort and for some (much like watching a calf try to walk for the first time) admitting that you really can’t do everything.
Smoking means more money, and being aware of the health and social effects.
Sex means more learning, being responsible, realising that it involves emotion (and not just yours), and while it can be amazing…if you’re not careful, it can also get you into more trouble than you can imagine.
images-7And those things are really only the added items on the ice-berg tip of adulting. Let’s not even delve into paying for the staples like rent, mortgages, food, pets, everyday items, replacements, insurance, phones, internet and electricity.
All the ‘things’ that you never really accounted for when fantasising about ‘growing up’, because you weren’t even really aware that they existed in child-land.

You start to wonder why the fuck you ever wanted to be an adult in the first place-ever?! It seems like it’s just an endless stream of responsibilities and bills and adult rules. You didn’t sign up for this shit??! Where is the dream?? The freedom…

And this, my friends…is why you should eat chocolate cake for breakfast. Because…you can. Because as an adult, there are things we can do, that hurt nobody, aren’t policed, and are well within our means to do. We can eat cake.

We can set our own bedtime. We can go for long drives, and play loud music. We can take time to roll on the floor with our dogs, and run through the house. We can jump on the bed. We can watch old movies all night. We can go out for cool night walks, and talk on the phone at 2am. We can have picnic parties on the lounge room floor, and wash the dishes ‘tomorrow’. We can drink a bottle of whiskey and smoke cigarettes. We can get tattoos and piercings. We can wear whatever we want. We can sit on the beach, watching the waves roll in, until all you can see is a sliver of moon on the water, and so much more. And we can eat cake.

We all too often lose sight of the freedoms and luxuries we actually do have, beyond all the responsibilities in full view. It is easy to forget we even have them. The little things.
I’m not saying that cake can solve all of your problems, or even when exactly it is consumed, that will help. It is more the symbolism behiiiiind the cake. Whether you are miserably unhappy, or your days are full of love, breakfast cake can just remind you that not all is lost. That you can still make choices. That being an adult has its benefits, however small. That if you choose to eat cake…nobody in the world can stop you, even from doing just that one little thing. And if you look hard enough…you might find other things that follow.

So Kids…mine was Belgian white chocolate…what’s your flavour?

Weight-watchers be damned…

17522556_1301392963277581_5645933189065747420_n.jpgFor the third time this week, I have been asked if I have lost weight. For the thousandth time if I am okay. For the hundredth time, given advice.
The answers are respectively: yes, no, and no thanks.

I struggle to lose weight usually, and I have finally found the secret. Want to know it? Stop giving a fuck. It’s really that simple. Stop trying, stop doing anything at all. Oh sure, you could take the conventional route of healthy eating and exercise, and maybe even live longer, but this is so much simpler.
I have skipped meals for nights, days, who knows how long? I have intermittently added copious amounts of alcohol to the equation. I have slept a total of about 10 hours over the last week. I have engaged in heavy labour, while running on nothing more than a few sugar-free energy drinks and an odd vitamin. Oh, and walked quite a lot. And it seems I have found my thing. That thing that works for me. Oh goody.

Obviously this is all a product of two factors. Copious amounts of stress/pain and a less than fulfilling job.
I currently work odd hours, so eating properly becomes a juggling act of when, what and where, so it’s easier not to bother. (Don’t worry, my dogs are still getting all of their proper, regular meals). The energy drinks keep me awake for work-minus the sugar hit.
And the stress…well that takes care of the rest. Lack of appetite, sleeplessness, alcohol (but it’s good home still, crap-free alcohol-honest).
16976992_10211245417424952_493780419_nSo all in all, it’s quite a balanced plan of deprivation, and generally not caring. If only I’d known sooner. All those clothes I could have seen in a window and *not* bought, because that’s generally one of the things I don’t give a fuck about.

So, now that my heart and soul are at an all-time low, at least my self esteem will benefit from it. Always a silver lining huh? I might go down in a screaming heap, but at least I’ll look pretty good on the way down. And people are noticing to boot. I’ve been told I looked thinner (Okay…maybe they also added pale and distant), attractive, have great muscle tone (they may have said similar to She-Ra…or maybe not-you’ll never know), that I am impressive (even criminals can be impressive), that someone ‘wants’ me (don’t hold it against them-everyone makes poor choices), and even that my arse looks ‘perkier’ (don’t ask).
Sadly, the only person in the whole world, that I would want to notice, isn’t even looking. Not that I need the attention, or have done anything I regard as ‘notice-worthy’, it’s just a really shit realisation, that that’s the way it is.
17799354_1037995019669667_5197261132301515712_nI have lost almost a full clothes size in the last month by the latest measure, but I still have a ways to go, so I guess there’s a LOT more fucks to not be given. I’m not a comfort eater, in fact quite the opposite. Not only do I forget to eat when I feel bad, but I also feel bad when I eat. This where my lack of fuck-giving falls down. Every calorie makes me feel guilty and regretful…And I don’t need to feel worse than I already do (if that’s really even possible?)

As for being okay. I think it’s fairly obvious that I’m not, but we don’t need to go into any further detail just yet. If I can accept it, you can.
I’m pretty sure that the few people asking if I am, are really doing it for decoration, because they know otherwise, but just can’t change the fact. It’s a bit nice to know that they care enough to ask in the first place. Someone actually told me that if they can hear me making any noise, they relax for a while, because they know I’m still here. A pretty grave thought. I guess I can’t hide how I feel right now as well as I thought.

My last word on the topic, is that I don’t really recommend this type of weight-loss regime for anyone. In fact I hope none of you, ever feel like this. But if you do-milk it.

Cheers Kids *raises highly alcoholic, sugar free mixer, terribly strong, glass*


Want to know what it feels like, to have a man, that has claimed to love you for over 13 years, sell you dreams, and keep you living in hope, tear your heart out in one swipe? Me too…because right now, I’m not feeling anything. Oh…I know I will. I know that in a few hours, when the shock subsides (not the shock of it happening-just the feeling) I will feel it. I’m imagining it similar to all the other times, but more of Mack truck like effect. Because this is it. The last time.
I know…drama drama drama right? But he ended it, again, and this time it’s done. Not because he says it is…but because I don’t have the energy to keep fighting. Not because I don’t love him, but because I just can’t do it any more. I can’t.

Right now I’m just a huge messed up ball of anger, and hurt and confusion. Right now I want to hurt somebody, and if nobody gets in my way, I’m guessing it will be me. Right now, I don’t care about anything or anyone, much less myself.
 But in the morning, when I can see clearly enough, process the thoughts that are spinning in an out of control fashion around my head currently, in a weakly diluted (okay barely diluted at all) bath of wine and whiskey…I’m going to feel every single little part of the hurt, and betrayal and loss.17362774_1027317360737433_2339336717897629705_n
Someone said to me tonight “It was a betrayal of love, and a betrayal of you. You fight for love, and he plays with it”. Well, I don’t like this game, and I can’t play it any more. I have fought for too long, to get to the castle, to be told that the game is over before it begins. And the thing with games, is that they come with consequences. If you land on the corner square, you go to jail. If you land on a ladder, you slide down it. If you hurt somebody, that is strong enough to have dealt with your bullshit for 5 fucking years (not including the stint 8 years before that again), you need to expect, that before they are gone, they will show you what it’s like to feel.
17012372_10211245417504954_1407257881_n.pngConsequences. Something he has never had to deal with. Because he trusts that he is loved, and while love has never been enough for him to return, to commit to, he thinks it is enough to protect him.

He says he wants to be alone, period. So, he can be. And I will make sure of it. Vindictive-sure. Vengeful-maybe. Justice-fuck yes. I’m guessing at this point, there may be a person or two out there, wondering just how much they have under-estimated me, or my affinity for evil? For truth? Perhaps even under-estimated my lack of resourcefulness and memory? And I can say this, because I’m a bottle of wine and half a dozen good (fuck your Scotch) Irish whiskies to the wind. I can say it because lack of inhibition, apparently lets me say whatever I want, to whoever I want (those people know who they are tonight, and I regret nothing!)

But for now, I will sob, and despair, and be fucked up. Let all who wish to judge, kiss my lily-white arse. I deserve to feel exactly how this feels to me. I deserve to hurt and bleed and pine, and ache and long. I deserve to feel what this man has done to me for so long, that I may be able to one day, finally, let go of all of the light and goodness, that I see in him, still. I deserve to grieve and be hurt, and be bitter, and angry and resentful. I deserve to question and doubt, and know that he has done the wrong thing to me, when all I ever wanted for him was good. I deserve to know that I didn’t do this. that I was not to blame. That I have nothing to be ashamed of. That LOVE is nothing to be ashamed of.
5f1e127976647cf347fb3500479d4a93You see, all along, people have said that losing love is like grieving a loss. And I have known both, so not to diminish anything, but…there’s this. This. This is a decision. He decided that love was not enough. that I was not enough. He decided not to choose me. He weighed up the options, of which there are countless, thought about it…and decided that he didn’t love me enough. Loss is not a choice. this. This is a choice. I was not enough.

It is not my fault, I know. But it is my pain to bear. That this person I love so very much, my soulmate, the person I would give everything for, that told me until this week began that he loved me, wanted me…thinks I am not enough for him. He would be alone, over making a life with me. He would choose nothing, over me. Let that sink in, because it’s taking a while for me.

So now, I’m going to go and try and sleep this off. This initial fucked up knee-jerk reaction to pain. I will wake up feeling sick and worse off for it, and steel myself to go to work and put on a brave face, when all I want to do is be alone and feel the entirety of this…void. And maybe he’ll show enough respect to just explain anything, and maybe he won’t. I don’t know why he’d start now, to be honest. It doesn’t seem that it’s been a high priority to this point. But the consequences…they will come. After all, who am I to stand in the way of a mans true desires?

Goodnight Kids. Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Or Karma.


The red pill or the blue pill?…

red-pill-vs-blue-pillI was given a book to read this week, by a friend. They thought it would be beneficial to my current circumstance, perhaps help me move forward with greater conviction and courage. To see the world anew, or to create a new one.
Attached to the cover, was a sticky note. Just a small blue piece of paper, tapped gently onto the top left hand corner, written neatly and purposefully. I stared at that little note for a while and put the book down. I picked it up again and read the note again, replaced the book on the counter, and went on. Finally I picked the book up and flipped it open. I only made it through the intro intact. The note read…’The red pill or the blue pill?’.
(For those not aware…”You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”  The term redpill refers to a human that is aware of the true nature of the Matrix.)

On page 10, was the line ‘We’ve purposefully made the tone of this book humorous, to distract you from the very real and overwhelming feelings you’re having right now’.
ca97f47154575c6a5798e0693e122b7fMaybe they’re onto something, I might pick it up again, if I can. When I can.
You see, the problem isn’t with knowing or not knowing the actual truth, it’s in which truth you wish to know and believe, but still having to accept all of the truths simultaneously. And more importantly, applying your own truth to the mix.

I know that there is also truth to many of the words I am being told, including those I don’t want to hear. I know that I deserve more. I know this man is flawed and complicated, and largely untrustworthy. I knew those things all along (intuition is great isn’t it?). I know that he has caused me much heartache. But… I am in love with him, and also love him still, because I also know that people in general, and love itself is flawed and complicated. It was the risk I took, well aware of the consequences, yet still hoping that a better truth would prevail. That he too, might see hope in the truth.

He is the first person in my life that I have struggled, and persevered, and tolerated with, through all the problems. Somehow this, he, is different for me, than any other. That is what I can’t let go of. The undeniable connection I feel. He has made me a hopeless romantic. I don’t want to settle. He is my Fish. Yes, I understand what he has done, yes I know what you all see, and yes…I would rather spend a lifetime missing him, alone, than betray my own feelings. And perhaps I will, but at least I know it will be true. ‘Moving on’ is all well and good, and unavoidable. I will travel, and befriend, and experience, and live…but the experience will be that much poorer in comparison to what could have been.
12341103_861836303914305_5978606474863632995_nTo those that suggest I would be sacrificing my dignity and self respect, I say, it’s not a question of either of those. I am well aware of the situation, what I do and don’t deserve, but continue to ‘choose’ what I want, love and have passion for. If I am wrong to do so, it wouldn’t be the first time, but I’d rather be wrong than have regrets. Essentially, doing what I am told, what is expected, or what is ‘correct’, is itself, a sacrifice of a part of who I am.

Perhaps people who have never experienced this feeling, which starts unexpectedly in your stomach like butterflies, makes your whole body quiver with nervous anticipation, and smile foolishly when you see a person, makes you crave their touch (even when they are right next to you), and miss them uncontrollably when they are gone from sight, don’t know it even exists? I admit, I thought I knew what raw, true love felt like…until it really happened. And then I knew without a doubt that all other feelings, failed in comparison to what I felt for this man sitting right in front of me.
beau11.jpgHe makes me feel like too much, and not enough. He makes me want to be a better person, yet I like to believe he once loved me for who I already was. I admire who he is, despite and due to his duplicity, and his strengths, and yet I want to keep him safe, and show him that there is so much more to the world, and living, beside the right person…
13524538_840170119452159_2288477524924573198_nI worry that I will live with the feeling of missing him always. I know I never stopped for the first ten years, and despite what he has now in the last few again, I miss him still. Some days are worse than others, and there are days when I almost feel nothing at all, but this is always there in my mind. In the silent moments, the loud ones, the funny ones…and when I turn to share or talk, love or smile…he is not here. I get this distinct moment of sadness each time in that realisation.
13450751_835557149913456_7253757091669370436_nSo, after major digression…the pages of this book are supposed to help. To help me proactively change the way I feel, and see the world. The stories of anothers struggle and victory, claim to be healing, and maybe they are, if only for the fact that they instil a sense of not being alone in the world. They will say I am not the only one to ever feel this way, and yet I know undoubtedly that I am. But, that said, words are powerful, a very special art form, and they can be used to hurt or heal. And some may resonate…
86df8fc8863dfb232e615a0b11e84907In a moment of drunken out-casting of inhibition I wrote this earlier in the week, and sent it to a friend. I reread it with my face in my palm the next morning, yet they claim to approve, so I will share it here, despite feelings of inadequacy to find the words to convey the depth of inspiration, and the primitive gushy, repetitive, romantic nature of it. You’ll just have to deal with those parts (and the typos are disgraceful-I know).
Don’t judge too harshly though, I rarely share my personal writings with anyone, and whatever inspired me to write it, might well bite. I am a harsher critic of my own, than you could all ever be collectively.
Always remember…Never judge another until you have walked a mile in their shoes. That way you are a mile away…and you have their shoes 😉
Goodnight Kids



You oughta know


Music. It is food for the soul. Art, an escape, an expression, a painting, a song.
Artists and musicians are thought quirky and individual, unique and bizarre. Their works are often seen by the blind, as just words to paper or paint to canvas. Their pieces are bought and sold like commodities, to be played in lounges and casinos, or hung in halls to be analysed, stared at, appreciated or ignored.
Yet what are they, but the epitome of truth, shrouded in veils of commercialism and set in scenes of neutral passersby.
ec51b8defd806a366f08998bdf9400e7Artists, musical or fine, the real ones, are tellers of the most important thing in the world: the truth. They sit with paper and bleed lyrics of their truth, until their bones are brittle and drained. They find music that will convey their pain or happiness, or the depth of their despair. They paint with hues that are felt from their very souls. They write of heartache and loss, and places from which there is no foreseeable coming back. They question the very fibre of their beings, and with whom they can combine it, to once again see light in their worlds.
991b022c11520e47c6a8f6bdfd5af9eeMartha Wainwright, Garth Brooks, Lemmy Kilmeister, Depeche Mode, David Grey, Disturbed, Aretha Franklin, Anni DeFranco, Ed Kowalcyck, Shaun Morgan and Creed all spew from the speakers, and push their pain and suffering into your veins. Alanis Morrisette, The Verve, Adele, Elle King, Sister Hazel, Dido, and Marilyn Manson tell intricate, excruciating tales of love lost, and some even plans of sweet revenge, through gritted teeth, with closed fists.
images-40Springsteen, Dire Straits, Alter Bridge, Chantal Kreviazuk tell you of days lost, slipped through their grasp, never to be relived. Nine Inch Nails, Tracey Chapman, 3 doors down, grind out their hardships and sorrow. Bruno Mars, Billy Joel, Pink, Nickelback, The Pogues & Jamie Lawson swoon songs of passion and undying love. Eminem & Jeff Lang force forth their words of survival and resilience. Tim McGraw & KT Tunstall instill hope and light. Elvis, makes your toes tap with memories of childhood and cleaner days, and Madness, Plain White Tees, Christina Aguilera & Lily Allen take it one step further until you’re on your feet moving.
fc73b604fce70343713e5cf42a8c5d82There is a song for every feeling, every mood, every change in the weather and every tear. They sing or write, or paint about what you feel, because they have felt it long before you have. Singers are storytellers, and we find our stories in their songs, to cling to them for comfort and unity. For they are our truths also. We find the people on the planet that have endured the same things we have, and lived to speak of it. The eloquent ones, that can make misery sound meaningful or useful. The talented ones that can make pain into pleasure, or healing, or give us the gifts of tears, or hope or smiles. Music is filled with lessons, and coping mechanisms, and emotion.
351c19dd9452523fb9c36042480d1910And the people that you know, the ones in your life, not just your playlist, they also tell their stories in their music. I have yet to know anyone, that sits down to write a song sans personal inspiration. Writing lyrics, as with poetry or painting or any other form of art, is to put a part of your heart and soul on display for all to see. And just like with this blog, they may tell themselves that nobody will read it, hear it, see it…but once it is created, it is out there in the world, hiding in plain sight. And it will be heard.
c54b717a1ddd32da2d741a21159ddeeeIf anyone ever asks you to listen to their songs Kids-listen. You will learn more about them, who they are, than words alone can ever say.

Baby, don’t hurt me, no more…

What is love? Is it straight out, over the top, passionate, scream it from the treetops proclamations? Perhaps a soft touch, or gentle stare into anothers eyes? Just a phone call every now and then? No, Love is too difficult to define. There are too many variations of it to label it as this or that. There are too many subtleties and facets, to say that something is or isn’t love. Love is felt, not explained. It is when you feel something that cannot be explained, by anything other than the simple four letter word, that encompasses so many things. Love. We say it too much, and mean it too little.
869018a0afdedff078f1f694127cc835And then there’s being ‘in love’, which is a whole different ball game. That is, love, this indescribable feeling, at such an intensity level, that it changes a person. It makes their priorities change and heart do back-flips.
43be1b8b0c2409f67496013750bf9504The old cliche is wrong, it doesn’t make you blind…but it does make you forgiving. It makes your desires change, and grants you the ability to do things you never knew you could, both good and bad. It defies logic and reason. And if you are alone in it, it is the hardest kind of hard.
c1fa64d64e475a9f0ac37a03642e1430The places you find the different forms of love are surprising. It can come as a phone call, to make sure you are okay, a hug from a stranger, a lover with whom your soul has likely shared a past life…or in the respect of a friend.
1e84e2d029431ba2e63fd4d286eb268aI have a friend, who I have been close to for most of my life. He comes across as very blaze when it comes to most people. He’s introverted and quiet, but he’s passionate about things that mean anything to him. I introduced him to someone very important to me once, and he was already skeptical, but promised to stay open-minded, because he knew what it meant to me. After the event, and further down the track, he said to me in a very even serious tone “I like the guy, I really do…you said I would…but if he hurts you one more time like this, I’ll fucking kill him”. It wasn’t a real threat, it was just a statement to show how he felt. It was protective and heartfelt…and there’s love in that.

Another friend. On the outside he’s pretty easy on the eye and a little on the rough side, but I’m sure that inside, is something that would make a Miner smile. We spent some time together at one point, and along with the general conversation, he may have thrown words like ‘awesome’, ‘attractive’ and ‘beautiful’ at me. I admit I was somewhat surprised, but dismissed it quite quickly and we kept talking. We got ridiculously drunk and ended up in bed together.
At this point, you may be thinking “what’s this got to do with love, it’s sounding like bad 70’s porn music should be playing in the background?”…but no. Nothing like that happened, and that’s the point exactly.
We curled up together and went to sleep. That’s the truth.
In the morning, he said to me quite matter-of-factly “The reason I didn’t try anything, is only because I respect that you have feelings for someone else, and I knew you wouldn’t want me to. I don’t want to mess with that, we’re friends”. He was right.
And that right there. Respect, honesty…there’s love in that.

A third friend has recently lost someone very special. She is in a world of her own pain, and yet never fails to reach out a loving hand to help when I fall. She listens and talks, and makes coffee and time. She never judges, and tries to understand where I’m at (not an easy feat). There are days I’m sure that company would not be a priority, yet the door is never locked when I randomly arrive. She tells me that I have helped on days that were bleak and seemingly hopeless, just by being there, yet she doesn’t know just how much she has helped me too.
Unconditional care and acceptance…there’s love in that.

And a fourth, who has messaged me every day for the last few weeks without fail, to make sure I’m still here, because he legitimately worries that one day I won’t reply…and I won’t be here. Even though he knows I don’t tell him how I really feel when he asks, he asks anyway and says that any reply is better than no reply. He brought me Halloween vampire donuts when he ‘just happened to be around’ from over an hour away, this week.
Worry and persistence…there’s love in that.

And then there’s this guy…my fish…and he uses the word ‘love’. That sharp-edged, complex, affective word.
We fit, and it feels right. It’s the part that escapes explanation, no matter how many words you care to try and string together. He came to me a long time ago and asked me to choose him, and I did, without hesitation. He asked me not to give up, and I didn’t, not once.
9a2418b665019ce75d2cb70ae9805c3cWe shared time, places and passions, and talked about histories, futures, faults, fears and dreams. We loved and laughed…and just…fit. He always left me wanting one more kiss, one more touch, one more word, one more of everything about him…and then one day… he just left.
And I can’t hate him, so the pain and the missing…there’s love in that too. Mine.
download-14People say that love hurts, but it doesn’t. Love does not hurt. Love is what’s right with the world. Love is both grand and humble. Love is feeling good and fulfilled and calm. Love is knowing that wherever you are, it doesn’t matter, because if you’re with that someone…it’s where you’re meant to be.
5da0cd94f20c7b38bdd4015732ac06f4It’s standing next to them and not feeling close enough unless you are touching their skin. It’s looking in their eyes and knowing without a doubt how you feel. It’s the smile a morning text can put on your face for the rest of the day. It’s missing them with every fibre of your soul when they are gone. It’s knowing that you will always feel that way. Love fills your cup. It’s unmistakable and undeniable.

It’s the absence of love, the people who don’t know how to love, that hurts.

Don’t get the two mixed up Kids…But always believe.