Don’t you be a first, please!

I first started thinking about relationships and men when I was about fourteen. I started to think about me in relationships and with men. I guess I was a bit too young. Or maybe too old. I don’t really know. What I know as a fact is that though I was never any good at figuring out how to make a relationship work, or at least last, but I was very good at predicting with whom and how I’d be in a non-functional relationship for the shortest time. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?

I don’t know what to call what used to happen to me. Don’t know if it still does. Do you call it premonition, déjà vu, intuition, when you can know if someone you’ve not yet met will love you or at least lust after you? Does it even come in handy to know in advance?
It used to. Used to be fun.
Not anymore I guess.

And it’s happening yet again. I think it is. This guy I’ve recently met, I’ve known about him for a while now. I’ve known him through someone else for some time. And I’ve always felt that there must be something there. Something cool. Fun. Yet deep.
I’ve always known that we will be good friends.
Or is it just wishful thinking?
Nothing’s happening. We’ve met a lot. And I’ve taken all the first steps. Suggesting to help with something I’m trained very well for. Calling. Text messaging. Leaving off-lines. Nothing’s happening, yet.

Today, as I was watching him, I realized that not only he’s not into me, but also he’s not my type at all. And I still want to be good friends with him. Still wanna share something...

I needed some help the other night. I knew you could help me out. Top that up with me being as much into you as I am, I gave you a call. I think you were with one of your many girls. The ones you even pick up on the streets on your free time; or so I'm told. when I asked if it was a bad time you said you’d call me back that night. You didn’t. Not even the day after. And I was waiting.

I waited two days for a call that never came!

I guess you could say I was pretty pissed. And this morning, I did not watch you come through the door. I looked your way too late. Too mad. And there you were, looking my way, with a big smile on your face. A smile for me...

I then realized that that’s what you do. Every time. Ever since I first stopped you and talked to you. Are you misleading me, or am I misreading the signs?
I’ve seen you on five consecutive occasions wearing the same tie. Not into me. And I’ve seen you looking at me like you needed me to smile, to approve. Into me, a bit?

Frankly, I’d hate for you to be the first to prove that my instincts aren’t always right. I’d hate for you to be not into me. I’m a very good friend. I’d be even better with you. The fact that I only have a very limited time left makes it even more fun. And more in need of your most urgent attention.
It’s not like I’m dying or anything, as you very well know. But I’ll be leaving the country in about seven months at the very latest. I want to take away good memories with me. And the best I can come up with right now would be you. It’s besides the point that you are supposedly headed the same way yourself. Think of it this way:
If we work as friends, I could be your extra incentive for moving forward with your immigration plans. And I could be of great help in the studies you need to undertake in order to go. I’m a very valuable asset, and a very fun one.

Don’t lose me!!!

Don’t you be a first…

Is this LOVE?

It’s been a very long time since I last felt the rush; the rush you feel when you are having firsts with someone. The first time that someone calls you on the phone. The first time you call him. The first time he calls your name. The first time you hear the smile in his voice when he hears yours. The first time you find an excuse to talk to him. The first time he finds his. (Will he, ever?) The first time you plan to meet, be it a date or otherwise.
It’s a different kind of high. Not like that of any drug. (Not that I’ve ever tried any!) It’s when your body, heart and soul feel light as a feather; feel afloat; feel ALIVE.
I thought I was cured of my addiction. How could I have gone without for so long?

But I don’t know if it is love. I thought I was in love twice before. Neither time was I. It was infatuation. It was obsession. It was lust. Love? Never. Or is it possible to fall out of love as quickly as you fall in?

The first time I was so young. Not that young actually, for my ID read 24. But it was a first for me, emotionally, physically.
And he was the wrong one. Even in the deepest depts of my emotional madness, not once did I fancy myself with him forever. I always knew. That’s what gained me the reputation of being a man in my relationships; the ability to keep my brains detached, no matter how involved my heart was. I took all the crap for a precious though wasted 14 months before I broke the whole thing off. I had not caught my losses short though. My life, my soul body and heart, were already different. Bruised and broken. Better late than never though, right?

The second time was with the wrong man again. But I was faster in realizing it this time. Faster in acting on my realization. Though I knew how wrong it was from the very first moment, I could not resist the temptation. Blame it on the circumstances. Blame it on my foolish heart. Blame it on my addiction. All I knew was that I was willing to give it a go while I could.
It was very strange when it was over; how it was over. I didn’t regret having lost it for a moment. I felt like there had never been anything to lose in the first place. I felt relieved. Felt ready to live the rest of my life. I simply didn’t know that there was nothing left to the rest of my life.

Until I met him.
He’s a cutie. I’d kill to look at his long lashes and baby-smile all day long; for many days to come. (There goes the man in me again!) But is it love, this time?

I love the high you feel the first time he laughs at one the goofy jokes you make at your own expense. I love to hear him laugh.
I love the rush when you fall in love.
Love to love…

Tears are welled up into my eyes again.

Life can be such a bitch sometimes. Even more so, people. And they don’t even have to be women to be bitches anymore. Apparently not! I miss the good old days when everything had to follow a certain set of rules. Everything was much less complicated back then.

I’m talking about the days when you cried when you were sad; or shouted when you got mad. When you had the right to express your feeling, no matter what. I miss the times when not everything happened to be a game you had to be the winner at. Miss the times when being a politician was just another occupation and not the only survival method.

The thing is, I’m not even old enough to have seen and lived in those good old times. But I’m a pretty smart gal; well, pretty and smart. I’m sure there must have been times like that. Life, the human race, couldn’t have continued all these decades and centuries like this. It’s unbearable.

How many times can a heart take it to be shouted at and insulted and humiliated and not even have the right to respond, I wonder. When will it simply give its bit up?

I’m only 30. Not even exactly 30 yet. It seems so young when I think of all the years of taking this crap ahead of me. Sounds too long when I remember that I have taken the crap all my life. Is there simply nothing else to life? Is it just me? Am I naïve and misguided to hang on to the belief that life is supposed to be happy? And if not happy at all times, it’s supposed to have its moments?

Pooh… I guess that’s the case. Me, being the fool…