A story.

I’d like to tell you a story. A story about a girl who is currently wrapped in a soft peach colored blanket, curled on her bed writing this, to you. I write this in hopes that reading it will perhaps make you understand yourself better, or better yet, would help you understand life a little better.

This girl I want to tell you about cries sometimes. And when she cries it’s like the flood gates to every emotion in the human brain opens and pours freely. And if the movies were real, the pain behind these tears that fall would move mountains and shake the earth. But instead, these massive feelings and emotions that overtake this girl at times are transformed into small beads of salty water that fall freely down from the soft, beautiful cheeks of this girl.

And sometimes there are tissues strewn about, damp and wilted from the tears. And throwing them away after these crying sessions tends to serve as a cleansing of sorts. Out with the old, in with the new. At other times, the tears are too much and so this girl pours a large glass of wine to help ease the pain that the weight of the world causes her weary shoulders. Her weary heart.

And I want to be honest about this story. I want to tell you that sometimes this girl wishes she could turn it all off. She’s thought about certain options that aren’t legal, or healthy. She’s thought deep dark thoughts that she wouldn’t share with anyone. Yes, I’d like to be very honest when I say that this girl has thought about life without herself. A quick moment of impulse carried out with careful regard. But this girl hasn’t, and most likely wouldn’t, even though sometimes life seems so blatantly unfair she wishes she couldn’t feel, or be anymore.

But instead she buries herself in her blankets, or a man, or something else. And she rides out the emotions like a soldier in a war against themselves. And she could scream, if it weren’t frowned upon but she doesn’t for fear of society. And she could punch walls or throws things off her balcony, but she doesn’t because then she’d be crazy. She could ask all the difficult questions and question everything, but then she’d be known as something other than a polite young lady.

And finally, i’d like to say, that a long time ago, years ago, there was a fire in her heart that never went out. A strength that never dwindled until years of disappointment and let downs, of heartbreaks and betrayals, lead her to where she is now. Sitting in her room, wrapped in a soft peach colored blanket, tissues surrounding her, as she writes her heart out onto a computer screen and drinks a glass of her favorite red wine.

And she waits on a call from a man, because he said he’d call so she waits. And perhaps this time when she answers she will ask all the difficult questions. And that fire in her heart will ignite again, and she will realize that she deserves nothing but the best and if she can’t get the best from a man, she can get the best from herself.

Or, he may not call. Because people don’t do many things they say they’ll do and nothing surprises this girl anymore.


A gift.

It has recently occurred to me that I don’t understand life. I never did, and I fear many others don’t either. Life after 30, especially, is presenting itself as being extremely difficult. You see, I didn’t get married in my 20’s. I stuck with my beliefs as far as never wanting children, and now here I am, 30 and childless. I am not unhappy. In fact, these choices I have made have left me unbelievably happy and grateful. But I’d like to be really…honest.

Honestly, life has fucked me up. I’m not talking about the terrible or unfortunate situations in my past. We all go through heartbreak and sadness and loss. This is not new, it is a part of life that we all must experience. I am talking about the weight of life itself. The realization that in reality, life itself doesn’t hold very much meaning. In the big scheme of things, we live and we die and we leave a small mark. This realization, the one of mortality and morality, is difficult to accept at times. And the depth of said realization can affect us in ways we might not realize until a specific moment in our lives.

That moment for me is right now. I am in such a hurry to love, to give, to receive and to FEEL, that I forget how to do anything else. I feel like I run short on time. One day I will die. And it may be years from now, or tomorrow. And I’d like my last living moments to be full of memories, not regrets. I don’t want to regret not living enough. I don’t want to regret not being loved enough. I don’t want to die alone, although in truth we all do.

I don’t want to live my life in loneliness but I feel most lonely when I am with a lot of other people. There are few people in my life that I can be around for long periods of time without wanting to be alone. This seems like a pattern for most the older they become.

Finally, I want to say that I don’t understand my heart. Young love is so exciting, new. We can love freely and openly and kindly. We embrace it fully and we are not ashamed, or scared. In time these relationships will shape us into the lovers we are as we get older. Will we become liars? Runners? Ship jumpers? Or will we remember to love fully, without regard or fear, until the day we die? I try. But deep down it is in me to be a runner. It is in me to overthink. It is in me to feel so fucking much that it feels as if I feel nothing at all.


My switch.

I want a switch. One that is delicately installed somewhere on my body. Hidden from the eyes of others. This switch will be my saving grace. I’ll flip it off when I get sick of feeling. When life get’s to be too much. This magic switch will be the barrier between my heart and my brain. I want to shut off the circuit that connects the two, and just not feel anything for awhile. For however long I want, and then perhaps I’ll flip the switch back on.

Perhaps not though…maybe not feeling anything is better than feeling everything at all times. My empathy is my blessing and my curse. My innocence is barely hanging on. I feel so much…does this make me crazy? Does it make me crazy that I can’t wait until the day I can utter those three beautiful words to you? Does it make me crazy that my brain still tells me to run even though I never would? Does it make me crazy that I’m falling for you more and more each day? And mostly, does it make me crazy that I can’t stand how I feel so much more than you, but stick around anyways?

If I had that beautiful switch I’d turn it off for a very long time.


I felt something last night. Something strange and new and wonderful. It had been forever since I’d felt it, and never this intensely. As we laid together in your bed, wrapped around each other in the late night, I felt what it is to be human and to feel. With my head resting on your chest I could hear your heartbeat, quick and steady, and I wanted to say:

“You’re alive, I’m alive. We won’t be here forever, but I’m so damn grateful to be here now, listening to the sound if you living, being a part of that. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

But I didn’t. I reveled in it. In the way your skin felt beneath my hands, soft and warm. Breathing in your air, your scent. Feeling safe and warm and loved in the comfort of your strong arms. I felt what it is to be alive, what is worth living for, and I dream of having it each day from now until I am no longer alive.


It’s not you that I wish to forget. Its what you made me feel. That connection, like some sort of drug; an addiction. I’m not ready to quit, and that makes it that much more difficult. I could barely grasp it, that slightly tangible feeling of hope. Throw me a lifesaver to rescue me from the realization that this is all there is. A lifetime of smooth talkers, manipulators and users. I gave you the easy way out, you just weren’t supposed to take it.

You were supposed to stay.


I haven’t been feeling especially inspired lately. This won’t be a normal freestyle type writing. I want to get some thoughts out onto this platform, because it’s therapeutic. I met someone. Strange thing is that it happened so slowly, yet extremely fast. I met him at the gym. He asked to “work in” with me on the leg press. I was surprised, and it was obviously apparent that he didn’t want to work in, he was just trying to talk to me. It was over the course of a few weeks that I’d see this elusive man with great legs every so often. We’d chat but I’d always cut it short because, well simply put, I’m awkward and forgot how to flirt.

One day I saw him and went to say hello and we got to chatting. We stood by the free weights and talked for about 45 minutes, and the most insane part was that is felt like 5. I was hoping he’d ask for my number, which he eventually did. He said he’d call me later in the week, which he eventually did. We talked and laughed and for once in a very long time I felt that ease of conversation that comes from 2 people who’ve known each other a very long time. Needless to say I was very excited.

He asked me out on a date for that Friday night. He picked me up at 5:45 sharp. As I walked down the stairs from my 3rd floor apartment he was leaning up against the bottom apartment with his sunglasses on and a nice outfit. Seeing him outside of the gym was something I’d imagined, but he was so stunningly handsome and smelled so amazingly good it felt like I was in a storybook. He opened the truck door for me, and I could feel him watching me as I pulled my height challenged frame into the passengers seat.

He took me to a great restaurant and we had amazing conversation that never seemed to turn dull. We then went for a walk in the park and he held my hand. Things lead to other things and I woke the next morning in his bed. No regret passed through my body as I had been craving male touch for so long, any sort of affection really, that I felt like I’d been born again. It was amazing. The night had seemed endless. But alas, I had to make my way back home. He drove me there, walked me up the 4 flights of stairs and kissed me at my door.

Since this night I’ve seen him one other time (two if you count the late night run-in at Walmart that was more awkward than romantic). He’s been in touch, but has a response time of about 3 hours with text messages. My gut instinct was to call it what it was, a fling, and move on. I know what I want when it comes to a man. I want a man to want me so bad he makes time for me. Not one that pushes back dates and says he’s busier than expected. Not one that says he’s going to a late night gym session and then shows up at Walmart. I want a guy that looks at his phone hoping to see my name on his screen. A man that doesn’t want to go a night without talking to me. A few days without seeing me. I want a man as invested in building something amazing from the beginning as myself.

And so far that doesn’t seem to be the case. I’ve given him an easy way out. I told him let’s hold off on anything more until he isn’t so busy, until he can make more time for me. But he insists on texting and says he wants to stay in constant communication until our next encounter. I don’t know what to think so I’m letting my gut take the lead on this one.

Although he’s amazing, intellectual, and when he takes his shirt off my brain cells shut down, he just isn’t what I’m looking for. I want to feel wanted. Needed. Sought after. I don’t want to feel like an after thought. Actions speak louder than words and so far his actions are speaking volumes. We slept together the first night, and it was brilliant and laughing with him has awakened something in me that had been dormant for so long. I am changing. I am coming out of my cocoon from being the chubby girl with no self esteem, to the fit woman who knows she’s fucking amazing and deserves nothing less than a man that does everything he can to get me to stick around.

I deserve that and I will accept nothing less.

Brain Vs. Heart

Timing is rarely ever ideal. “Run”, says my brain, “Stay”, says my heart. It seems like the hands of the clock move faster and faster the faster and faster I go. Quickly, little one, Fraulein, before it catches up to you. Before it hurts too bad.

As if the tears weren’t bad enough, I hear the tone of a message come through on my phone and with a shaky finger I open it. Not my proudest way to die.

I’ve always listened to my heart, but I think my heart is telling me to finally listen to my brain. Run, Fraulein.


Watch you sleep.

I look at you as if you’re already gone. A distant memory that still manages to hurt even though it’s over. I stood in the doorway and watched you sleep, it felt like a goodbye, although it’s just beginning. Loving like you’ve never been hurt seems so romantic, in theory. Truth is my heart is nothing but scar tissue, yet somehow it manages to pump blood throughout my body, but nothing else.

I could see myself loving you. I could see myself wanting you forever. I could see many tomorrows. Yet I stand at the door watching you sleep, whispering a tender goodbye.