Everything = Ridiculous

kelleybailey:

(via lmbdv)

I’m a sucker for indie rom-drams. I really am.

And, while I cry at all the appropriate times (I am a fucking girl, after all), this movie destroyed my heart. Because I can relate.

I don’t know why I’m writing about it. I’m not reviewing it, or anything. I’m just thinking about it. About how I fall in and out of love but sometimes I know it’s not love, and sometimes I don’t.

I fall in infatuation pretty hard, and pretty fast, and pretty deep.

I once loved a man, for many years. In and out of any other relationship I had, he was there. For me, or for him. When we were lonely, we’d gravitate towards each other. He lived far. Not very far, but far enough. Occasionally we’d see each other. It started when I was young (too young for him, in fact).

He knows my dark secrets more than anyone; maybe even more than anyone that’s read this blog. He knows about every man, every heartache, every one night stand, every fuck up. He knows me.

He knew me.

We no longer speak, anymore.

I’m 21. He’s 28. I’ve known him since I was fifteen; loved him since I was 18. He’s loved me forever, he said.

And we were beautiful. Sometimes.

And others, we were strained. He told me once, that sometimes he hates me. He told me that I only want him when I’m alone. That I toy with him. That I’m a bitch. That I’m a whore. That I’m disgusting. That I make him cry. That I was beautiful. That I was perfect. That I was miserable. That I make him miserable. That I should marry him. That I was his.

We’ve both moved on, now. We’re older. He’s with someone. I’m always with someone else. I haven’t spoken to him in around 6 months.

I think about him, from time to time. We would’ve never worked. I know this. He knows this.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just… I’m nostalgic, today.

Horizontally.