Good & Fond

When you find an essence that is so raw and pure that it is just plain good, how do you begin to put that into words?

“Good”- It sounds so average. Mediocre. ‘Good job’ Not excellent or brilliant or perfect. Just good. But that’s not what I mean at all.

He is good.

That is the only way to describe him.

But it’s not enough.

I don’t mean good in the plain old sense. I mean pure, not evil. Not threatening. Not manipulative or cruel. Just…good.

There is not a single ‘bad’ bone in that mans body. That I am near certain of.

I wont spout nonsense of me falling for him or of being in love, I’m not certain it’s that.

But I am fond of him.

I’m fond of his eyes and the way they shine for me. I’m fond of his smile that is as rare as true happiness. I’m fond of his body. The perfect curves and edges that make him seem to have been carved and crafted by a artistic prodigy. I’m fond of his hair and the way it feels when my hands run through it. I’m fond of his lips. How they can find mine in the dead of night, 4am and there he is wanting more.

I’m fond of his mind. Of how, broken it may be, it tries to mend my fragile own. I’m fond of him with his countless quirks. The way he laughs. The way he recklessly abandons his belongings on my floor just to climb back into bed with me, to hold me. I’m fond of his hands, how they fit perfectly and welcomed in mine.

I’m fond of his style, how although it’s far from my cup of tea, it’s him and couldn’t be more perfectly him.

I’m fond of the way in which he is fond of me.

I’m fond of him.

 

 

 

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Fiction

There seems to be a heaviness in my chest that comes to form whenever my mind wonders back to you. Why do we punish ourselves in this way? The past is indeed in the past so why can we never let it rest there? Why must we dredge up the memories from the depths of our minds. Re-run the classic films stored for lonely nights and nostalgic days.

Each scene a dramatic blow to my heart.

Each line a sharp jab to the stomach.

This is no longer an extravagant dance for two. No more toing and froing of moves between us. In the past you would make your move and I would counter it. Now I watch from behind a screen, on the peripheral of your life. No longer am I the centre of your attraction. I wait in the shadows and watch you interact with someone new. I am but a mere memory. The faintest hint of what might have been. An insignificant facet of your life, your past. A notch, not on the belt or bedpost but rather somewhere indescribable. Iโ€™d like to think I meant that much. The simple truth of the matter is that I was not that to you. You left a mark on me that I cannot erase; but I to you? Nothing.

Happy 4th Birthday!

Happy Birthday to all of us! Today (As I have just been notified) marks four whole years from the birth of this blog. That awful, cringy first post. We sure have come a long way. (Heck of a long way) So much as changed in four years. My writing has improved crazy amounts. My life is hurtling in an entirely different direction. I have new friends. I live in a different city. But here we are. Still here, alive and kicking so they say ๐Ÿ™‚

Still smiling…it wont hurt us ๐Ÿ™‚

P.S Here’s free cake to commemorate the moment ๐Ÿ˜‰

Home made party cupcake with a number candle on top

The Final Night

18 years of junk-or as much as would fit into limited boxes-has been piled into the family car. I finally finished packing as the car was being loaded.

Tonight is my final night in my family home. As I type this my NSBFBF, or as I see her now, my sister is in the shower and I’m sprawled on what has became her bed. It’s funny how life changes. How relationships change. How people change.

In so many ways I think I’m nothing like the little girl I used to be. I’d like to think I’ve matured and grown into a better version of myself. In reality I’m still that scared little girl, afraid of the next chapter of her life.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thoroughly excited to begin the next chapter in this story called ‘My Life’ .ย  Truly I am. But when I step out of this house tomorrow, everything changes. I can’t even play the part of child or girl again. As much as my numerical age depicts that I am a woman, I don’t think I’ll actually feel it until I leave.

Woman…Adult. Such frightening nouns. How an it be that a simple string of letters makes me feel afraid? I do not wish to grow up. As much as I crave freedom and independence, surely life is so much simpler in the comfort of our own home?

I hope I like my new home. I hope I get along with my new neighbours. I hope I don’t lose this incredible friendship I have built with my best friend. I can’t bare to leave her, yet I must. How the heck am I going to survive without her? She is my rock. She is my own personal jester. No one I have ever met truly understands me like she does. And I don’t think they ever can, could or will.

 

Flawed.

Flawed. Imperfect-not recently been struck to the ground ๐Ÿ˜‰

I am flawed. Heavily so. My imperfections outweigh my quirks in (I assume) many peoples minds. A list of my flaws? I’m glad you asked. Lets go for a top 3. In no particular order.

  1. I am sarcastic. Dreadfully sarcastic to a degree that it comes across passive aggressive. Often people find it hard to know when I’m being sarcastic as I keep the same tone of voice. I have a dry sense of humour that comes out as sarcasm more often or not. Why is this a flaw? People don’t like being confused. And speaking to me can be confusing I guess when you can’t distinguish my intentions.
  2. ย I am lazy. Now I’m sure by now you all realise this. How often do I actually put out content on this wonderful little blog? There is a lack of drive or motivation in me. It only visits in short, infrequent bursts which are never enough to get things done. When I have a long list of things to do I will procrastinate and pick something else that wasn’t even on the list to do;thus extending the list. Why is this a flaw? Isn’t it self explanatory? ๐Ÿ˜‰ Laziness is not a trait of a successful woman.
  3. I lack confidence. Now this is one that has popped up recently. I thoughtย that my confidence had improved lately. Not listening to what others said or thought about me was a goal of mine. I thought i’d achieved that but apparently not. Recently while speaking to a guy I was actually becoming interested in, he stated that I needed to be more confident. Apparently “within the first 15 minutes” of speaking to me he knew that I had low self esteem. Now firstly thanks for that! If I’m completely honest here that crushed me. It’s like being under Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak walking around only to find out that everyone can see you…and you forgot to put trousers on. Like ouch dude that hurt. Now context is everything and I don’t just want to be slating somebody on this blog. I’ve been speaking on and off with him for some time now. He makes me laugh…a lot. But he also infuriates me. He’s stubborn and sometimes impossible to talk to. Now he lives an hour away which is bad enough. But after I move on Monday the distance will be even greater. No I have never met this guy in real life (Oh the wonders of the internet) but there’s something about him that gets under my skin. And yes I guess this was the real inspiration for this post. As it is an indirect- direct rant at him.

So now we’re admitting it’s about him. I would just like to take a minute to highlight the freaking awesome things about me that would make anyone, never mind you sir, lucky to have me.

  • I’m hilarious.
  • I can write…pretty gosh dang okay if you ask me.
  • I care deeply. For people, animal and the world in general.
  • I’m stubborn. Which means that I stick to my morals.
  • I’m passionate.
  • I’m quirky/crazy/individual in a way that is purely essence of me.
  • I have the ability to not care what people think. (The only exception for this is when I like someone, so I guess jokes on you. You missed out there)
  • I’m creative.
  • I have a pretty awesome taste in music.
  • Ditto for films.
  • I’m intelligent.
  • I’m as loyal as they come.
  • And heck yeah I’m sensitive when people pick on my faults.
  • I’m Me.

So I’m sorry mysterious Tinder guy. I am completely and utterly faulted, but you aren’t as perfect as you think. I wish you all the best for the future, but I certainly wont be it.

 

Smile, don’t let them get you down, stand tall and remember it wont hurt you! ๐Ÿ™‚ x

 

Packing

I do not want to pack. I don’t want to accept that I’m moving. I don’t want to come to the realisation that I’m leaving behind my best friend. I don’t want to leave my parents. I don’t want to leave ย my dog.

As much as I say I want to get out of this town, when compared to the big scary world, this little bubble is safe.

And so I am sat here. In a room that will soon no longer be mine. Writing this to procrastinate and block out the fact that those boxes are not going to pack themselves. Oh how I wish it was as simple as clicking my fingers. I wish I could wave my magic wand and everything will be done without too much thought. Thinking is the problem. Anything can be done easily when you refuse to think about it.

Put the thought from your mind and pack.

*Insert crying emoji*

(Must end positively -.-)

Smile…it wont hurt you.

One Week.

One week today I shall be moving out of my family home. One week. That’s seven days. 168 hours… Less than that now.

And guess what? Boxes lay on my bedroom floor. Empty boxes. No I have not finished packing. Of course, I haven’t even started! Whether it’s the procrastinator in me or the fear of leaving home stopping me, I’m not quite sure.

But I do need to pack. Because no matter how much I try to ignore it the plain and simple truth is that this time next week, all (Most) of my belongings shall be in an entirely new location. Heck by this time they may even be unpacked into my new room. Geez now that is scary. Shipped 1 hour and 43 minutes away from here. Away from this house that, after being here for 7 years, has become home.

Now moving out for anyone is a daunting experience, no doubt about that. If I was moving out to live alone maybe I would feel better. That would be manageable. But I most definitely will not be alone. I am being plunged into a building, riddled with countless perfect strangers. For I am not the only person for whom Monday the 19th of September will be a memorable day for. Hundreds of students and parents lives will alter, never to be quite the same again. In the same way that a broken mug that has been super-glued together again is never quite the same. Something, an intangible something, shifts ever so slightly. You can’t put your finger on what has changed, but everything feels different.

Children who are no longer children are left to fend for themselves for the first time, leaving nests empty. Thinking about it. It is the parents I feel the most pity for. They will return to their homes that are so familiar to them, just for everything to be different. Whether their child’s presence was a passive one or if they were the heart of the home. That home that parents spend 18 years building is torn. Now they have to learn to create a new family dynamic. Of course if younger siblings are left at home then the parents role continues. The gap is still there but a distraction is in place. However, for parents with only children or if it is their youngest child fleeing the nest, then that is when the tragedy occurs. What do the home-makers, the stay at home mums and dads do with all of their spare time? Sure they still have to care for themselves. They still have their daily deeds to complete. I imagine it is surprising the void that can be created by the lack of an extra mouth to feed. One less set of clothes to wash, person to speak to. Of course in today’s day and age communication is at an all time high. Never before has staying in contact been this simple. At the touch of a button conversations can be held face to face. (Or rather face to screen) The efficiency at which information can be transferred is incredible. Although I do fear for these parents, that their children having their taste for freedom and independence will become ‘too busy’ to touch base with them half as often as they should. I hope I am wrong. I have a feeling I am correct.

I pledge to disprove this theory. But I am young, flawed and terribly human. Forgive me in advance.

What an awfully big adventure these next three years shall be. I hope against hope that it lives up to my every expectation. Sadly in life, things rarely do.

Through it all I shall remember to smile…It wont hurt me. ๐Ÿ™‚