So much that I don’t even know where to start …

And nor do I have the patience to figure it out.

All I know is that I fucked up badly, suffered a ridiculous amount of guilt, almost cried tears of relief after determining he wasn’t mad at me, carried out a completely normal conversation with him, and continue to dream about him.

Although I think I’d categorize those short films more into the nightmare section.

This is ridiculous. 2 months, and I’ve gotten a lot better …

But I’m still not over this.

FUCK.

Maybe seeing him again was just a temporary shock of whose after effects I’m still reeling from … but seeing him again, seeing him smile at me again, being close to him again, touching him again … it’s all too much for my heart to handle all at once.

And regardless of the dozens of truly “genuine” proclamations I’ve received from multiple people of my complete and utter superiority in every respect in comparison to him … it doesn’t seem matter. Because the truth of the matter is, I’m still pining and hurting over him regardless of whether he does or doesn’t deserve or appreciate me or my sentiments.

It doesn’t even matter if he’s not worthy enough to lick the bottom of my shoe — I’m still the one being constantly reminded of our times together, I’m still the one feeling crummy at 12AM while waiting for my birthday text, I’m still the one that lights on fire when he touches me, I’m still the one suffering.

*sigh*

The consequences of love have finally caught up to me, and all I can say is karma’s a bitch. At least now I know that I have to capacity to genuinely like. Although at this point, I’d have been contented to skip the confirmation entirely.

But deep inside, I wouldn’t mind all the pain, longing, and hurt as long as I knew that he too was roasting in hell after seeing me on Friday.

*** And as a sidenote, thanks Christine for the birthday wishes!

Fact: I’m truly okay with not being with David anymore.

Sure, I’ll have those nostalgic moments where I smile to myself like some psychotic woman off her meds while reminiscing, but who doesn’t? However shitty our relationship was at times, it was still the sweetest, most genuinely innocent courtship I’ve had the privilege to experience — from holding hands on the beach to being damned indecent on the dance floor — he did it all. And even though I spend countless hours mentally cursing him to the depths hell for taking advantage of my “genuine” desire to be his, I thank him for everything. I thank him for genuinely liking me. I thank him for genuinely thinking about my well-being. I thank him for all the memories he’s given me. I thank him for giving me the opportunity to experience all the romantic cliches girls long for. I thank him for all the genuine feelings he gave me. I thank him for respecting me. I thank him for doing what I didn’t have the balls to do. But most of all, I thank him for helping me realize that although he was a wonderful catch, he wasn’t what I wanted, needed, or genuinely liked. And finally, I thank him for putting in the effort to re-forge a platonic relationship with me.

After a year, I’m glad to have said that we tried, failed, and continue as friends. After a torturously slow, confusing, anxiety filled relationship filled with beautiful memories, I’m that much more of a person. After liking, hurting, getting angry, and finding peace, I’m that much wiser and glad for the experience.

D***d C****n S**g, you will definitely go down as my favorite bastard of all time.

Thank You.

Yet however fantastic I feel at the moment, I can’t help but fear for myself. I fear for the speed, grace, and nonchalance in which I arrived at these revelations. I fear that I actually have become as heartless as people think me to be. I fear that I’ve lost the ability to truly put my heart and soul into things. I fear that I’ve lost the genuine ability to like, love, and cherish with my heart, and not just my mind.

Especially in light of my last relationship; he was supposed to be different. My whole world shook when he looked at me. My mind went blank from pure joy when he hugged me. My brain ceased to function the moment he smiled at me. I could’ve lost everything I owned in a fire and still been insanely happy if he was the one comforting me. In short, my eyes were for him, and him alone. Yet here I am today, 4 days after we broke up, happy as ever and barely able to appreciate the pain in loss.

Truthfully, my heart and mind have never spent more than a week lingering on any broken relationship. I’ve never hurt or despaired over any relationship to the point where my heart hurt enough to cry. I mean, I’ve cried — God knows I’ve cried — but always in the name of hurt pride, the fear of loneliness, a lost relationship … never a broken heart. Hell, I’ve yet to experience a broken heart since I’ve never opened up my heart enough to truly love anyone. Sure, at the time I believed the feelings I had were nothing but the purest feelings of like and love, but when the time came to separate it barely mattered.

Hence, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve either subconsciously never truly given my heart to anyone, or truly lost the ability to give my heart to anyone. Either way, it scares me. I, like every other stupid woman in this world, long to experience that powerful, moving love in which time and distance only serve to strengthen and tears and pain deepen. Hence, as a leading pessimist of the world, I fear my chance will slip through my fingers because of my heart’s callous indifference to the men that work for my heart.

He’s mine.

And although our conversations were awkwardly executed, it still made me happy. Watching him slowly become more comfortable and less censored around me makes me happier than anything any other guy has ever done.

Why? Because it shows that he’s trying. He’s not just restricting himself to his comfort zone — he’s actually leaving those boundaries for the sake of furthering our relationship.

And although we look awkward as fuck — we work … in our own awkward way. From the tenseness brought about by close proximity to the bittersweet anticipation of being able to hug, kiss, and touch each other when saying goodbye.

What’s really disappointing me, is my inability to do the same.

I guess I just need more time to confirm that he’s not going to river dance all over my heart.

“또 한번만 매일 ë°¤ ë³´ê³  싶다 말해줘
단 한번만
단 한번만 이렇게 안아줘
사랑해 말해줘 너 한번만 웃어줘
또 한번만 또 다시 날 보고싶다 말해줘
또 나를 ë³´ê³  웃어줘”
(D.Caprio - 한번만 Vol. 1 My First Flight)

I tried to understand him because he was working these past two weeks.
I tried to understand him because he moved into his new apt last weekend.
I tried to understand him because he didn’t have a car last weekend.
I tried to understand him because he had his accounting conference this week.
I tried to understand him because I knew he was tired yesterday.

But what I’m still trying to understand,
is why his ass wasn’t here first thing this morning after not having seen me for 2 weeks.

Does he really think txting and iming me is good enough?

Why?

There exists a plaza overseeing the 105 W which reads “MEXICO PLAZA”

Some of you from LA might know what I’m talking about.

It’s about 3 miles from the 110 ramp.

Anyway,

I realized — after the 454161651 trips I’ve made on the 105 W — that it’s become like a testament to why I ever go on the 105 W.

Almost like a, “Hey! 3 miles till YOUR Mexico!”

Hence, I find myself unable to stifle the burning need to see MY damned Mexico — even if he wasn’t my intended destination …

FML.

It’s 3 parts yearning, and 1 part happiness.

I need to extricate part of myself out of this whirlpool while figuring out a way to maintain and nourish this relationship.

Fuck you DS for making me wait for you all the time.

Slightly sickening, right? Totally out of character, right? Completely whipped, right?

I agree, and plead guilty to all three accounts. But the thing is, I’ve realized that I’m whipped past the point of help. I literally sprinted past that line the moment he told me that I never had to be sorry for my actions because he wanted to be there and take care of me.

And although I know I should be flattered by such sweet words, the insecure section of me has come out to play. I realize that most of the insecurities curtailing my ability to express my feelings for him vocally and physically are very much self-imposed and therefore logically my problem — but for some reason, I keep waiting for that soothing hand to extend itself and calm all three waging wars — mind, body, and soul.

But then I also realize that after years of this charade, I’ve become so very precise in the art of pseudo confidence that short of my telling him, he’d never know. And being the person I am, I’d never admit it.

But then that’s the way we both work. Neither of us possess the ability to freely express our feelings for each other unless otherwise compelled to do so by outside encouragements otherwise known as liquid courage (Alfred, you great man). I know he cares. I know he cares a lot. But to what extent? Now that’s the real question. I’ve always been wholeheartedly against liking or loving someone more than they you — but here I am — willing and executing. May God have pity on me and my already deteriorating heart.

You ask, they get weirded out.
You don’t ask, you’re left in the dark.

It’s a no win fucking situation.

FUCK.

I’ve never seen a species of human so averse to proclaiming their wants.

And then there’s the endless “I don’t know …” bullshit.

BULLSHIT.

If you don’t know, who the fuck does?

Idiots.

All of them.

Don’t fucking start shit if you don’t know wtf you’re doing!

CONSISTENCY BITCH!

My love, innocence, dedication, respect — everything I had, I pretty much gave.

I even gave him the most important thing I had to give, and I still couldn’t match up to his friends.

So, yeah. I lied.

This whole thing really fucking hurts.

But that being said,

if everything I had wasn’t good enough, what is?

Serious food for thought.

But, since he kinda threw me away, I guess I’m just going to have to accept that in our relationship, apparently not me.