The Obvious Blog Entry!

“Will you love me in December as you do
in May?” 
– Jack Kerouac

I did it again. I let
him in.
Strike that, it over simplifies this.
I did it again. I let
him sink beneath my skin and take over all my senses. Saying his name is the
hardest part of my day. He has me playing house again: I took up a reading
corner and his favourite shirt. Look up the definition of “fucked” and you’ll
see my face underneath, synonyms: “naïve, gullible, easy, Nora.” And that’s not
the fucked up part. It’s how much I love it. It’s how he makes me wear my
favourite dress and he compliments me for half an hour non-stop. It’s how much
my parents love him that they keep asking about him a week later. It’s how it
took him 48 fucking hours to be relevant in my life again.

It’s also how he
said one apology and things were okay instantly. People spend “forever” making
up for how he fucked up. It’s how he knows he’ll appear on my blog, like it’s
an insignificant ritual of my warped up writer dreams. It’s how he looks at
other girls, never me. It’s how he lets me fuck up like it’s “our thing.” It’s
one thing, it’s another, but it’s how he’ll never be him. He knows this, yet he
doesn’t falter. I am not his and he is not mine but he gets by… And I don’t.
Therein lies the problem.
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