I tell him all about you. I laugh at your attempts to set me up with a Starbucks barista who really just wanted to take our order and never see us again. I cry at your pain. It is all mine. Your moments of pure joy, were my moments of pure joy. Your pain cut through us both like a sharp knife. I tell him so I won’t forget. I tell him because one of the saddest things in the world, to me, is the fact you will never meet him and he will never meet you. He would make you laugh. He does that self-deprecating, underdog thing you would have rooted for. He would have admired you in every way because you are the literal meaning of the words ‘strength’ and ‘determination’. You would have debated and playfully argued. He would have feared you. And loved you. I tell him about your past. I tell him about your journey. I tell him about your final destination but I tell that story with tears strolling down my face and onto his.
I tell him because with each passing day you get further from me.
I tell him because I am scared.
More than anything I am petrified that one day I will wake up and I will forget how you would sip your tea.
I tell him because you were mine and now he is too.
- Relationship counselling.
It might seem like you are jumping the gun a bit but as soon as that fifth date hits, get yourself a good, objective professional to help you guys work through your issues. Your friend Sarah who is a law graduate who has seen over forty episodes of ‘Cheaters’ is perfect. Get ready for relationship bliss.
- Social Media.
Be sure to post every relationship update on Facebook. It lets the world know how in love you are and it is fun!
- Make sure you are his social life.
Friends? Lol, that was pre-Christina hun. He doesn’t need anyone else if he has you. You provide him with all of the social, emotional and physical needs he could possibly require. I don’t care if Rob has been his bestie since birth, he is annoying and interferes in your super healthy relationship.
- Passwords and Privacy.
Just download a decent app to track his movement and whereabouts. What’s that babe? You visiting your granny? That’s funny cos I’m pretty sure she isn’t residing in a downtown strip club. Ima lose my shit in about 2.5 seconds.
- Keep him guessing.
Men love it when you mess with them. Remember that thing I said didn’t annoy me? Today it enrages me and tomorrow, I probably won’t care. Am I off my meds? Am I on them? He loves the mystery.
- Tell him your opinion on absolutely everything.
It’s hardly your fault his sister decided to have her engagement party on your dog’s half birthday. Don’t be afraid to share it with him and everyone else at the party.
- Get drunk.
5 mint leaves
1.5 teaspoons of sugar
500g of Cereal
It started on a hazy summer night. Two incredibly broken people and one bottle of champagne. Nobody else understood. We danced beneath the moonlight and everyone else melted away, we were the only ones left. We celebrated our flaws and embraced each other’s broken pieces. Turned out that my missing pieces almost fitted yours. Where had you been this whole time? I had no idea this dark utopia existed until you came into my life. You were that music that penetrated the vacuum. We moved fast. Trauma does that to you. It binds you. It bonds you. It’s kind of a permanent thing. We danced in that same moonlight until your mind started to wander elsewhere. Suddenly our safe haven wasn’t enough. It was too safe. You craved the broken, the wild, the untamed, the unconventional. All I ever wanted was a peaceful existence. Not you though, you craved the noise, the lights, the entire world outside ours. The same world that never understood you, was now pulling you further and further from me. Why? You wanted me because I defied your expectations. You celebrated my loud voice and brash opinions, remember? The same opinions that you are now trying to shape, the same voice you are now trying to silence. Where did I lose you? Were you ever mine? Was it just circumstance? Was it just a bottle of champagne and pure chance? Was any of it real?
I wanted the man that danced on the edge with me, the one who was raw and authentic and totally flawed. I don’t recognise you now. You are bored. You seek a new trauma, a new life-changing event, a new partner in crime. I am finding it harder and harder to listen to your remarks and critiques. Remember when you craved my flaws, creating poetry out of each one, letting them melt into us? My flaws are now the butt of your jokes, your tired, over-used jokes. You perform to this non-existent audience. We used to be on that stage together but there isn’t room for me anymore. You take my trauma and turn it into funny anecdotes and droll party pieces. When did that happen? I’ve heard a lot about love and this isn’t it.