melbournegirl

sad realisation, i haven’t had a cigarette in three years and for some effed up reason i’ve gone through half a soft pack today. fml.

according to one of my colleagues….

….i look like i’m going to either going to rip someone’s throat out or kick someone in the rude bits. either or. one shouldn’t chainsmoke, listen to puscifer and lose their shit over fluff.

it’s all fluff.

awkwardland

the day you stood in front of me, on bended knee with a nervous look on your face, my mind was elsewhere, my heart grew tiny wings and had broken out of its cage.

the tiny half carat white gold ring didn’t bother me but it made my finger itchy. you fumbled and stuttered as you said those words in that whiny english accent. the truth was i wished that you just stopped talking and this situation wasn’t happening.

i wanted to escape. none of this felt “right”. my heart had already flown out the window, down the street and onto a train bound for someone else.

the engagement party occurred a few days later. there i was, in a dress. unbeknown to you, it was something someone would wear to a funeral. why did i actually say “yes”?

we had nothing in common. our conversations had become stale, stilted, dry, dull and lacklustre. i’d laugh at your jokes as if i had to. i honestly wanted things to end between us.

you managed to succeed in quietly screwing things up with what could honestly be constituted as rape/violation (consent to something or else something bad would happen), lies and a great deal of cowardice.

i finally ran away to awkwardland after a long time of enduring you.

i’ve tried my darnedest to jump back on the love pony but who’d honestly want a frump like me?

i spend my days peering through sunglasses at strangers on the train. i stupidly wonder what it would be like to hold their hand, snuggle up next to them and do all that innocent shit two people who dig each other do.

i curse distance. i curse my shyness. i curse time, space and the universe for making me look so haggard and weary. i curse myself for suffering from depression and failing at this whole “being a normal human” type of thing. i curse my slowly dwindling vocabulary and that wry smile on my face when i saw your mousey blond hair and kissable lips.

i curse long train rides and not throwing this into an email. i curse the assumption that you’ve probably got a beautiful partner who loves you and would poke my eyes out if i clumsily made a move on you.

i curse being stuck in awkwardland, amongst memories that i wish would buzz off and leave me alone. i curse my mind for wanting to tell you how i feel in russian, how my hands want to write your name in bulgarian and how my lips want to kiss you in canada.