Through the glass she looked

She was the innocent child thrown out to the wolves and learnt to crave his knife to lead the pack instead. Adventure was her snowflake that beckoned her to come out and play. Through the looking glass at the end of the tunnel she stood; taking her breath away was the last thing on his mind. She was never his or her own. She belonged to something far too unknown. She detested recycled stories of boy-meets-girl. Yet, she got entangled in his dream catcher and all she could do was stare. Weak men ran away from her cause they lacked the strength to fix the broken. He was a fixer and knew exactly how many and where the stitches go!


Living up to the Expectations of Two

It wasn’t a rushed lunch hour or waiting for one running late,
Everyone wonders why she is in this poor state!
Don’t pity her, it was a choice she made,
She didn’t bat one eyelid so stop throwing her shade.
An unapologetic introvert although not the socially awkward,
She sat at the table rewinding it backwards.

It was the hardest thing she had to do,
She has been living up to the expectations of two.
So she took a little walk, so we could have the talk,
While everyone else around her gawked.

She talked for long hours,
Solved numerous problems that leaned higher than these towers.
A soul that matched hers, the one she remembered in tears,
Enough fire to burn down a small town,
Sometimes she’d even play the clown.
They weren’t lovers nor were they friends,
They were in it for life and knew how to make amends.
It was her! Always had been, the daytime fortresses she built,
Set her free without any guilt.

It was the easiest conversation to start
and the most difficult to finish.
This is why she hid from the world and picked up where she left off.

She had been here before,
Didn’t expect company any more,
She walked up straight and said aloud, “Table for one, please!”

‘Will there be a join?’
‘No, I’ll pay by my own coin.’

Table for one and it’s completely fine.
She used to sit at it and eat and read and sleep and cry and wine.
She ate alone, blissfully unencumbered by any concerns,
And all the while the world turns.

Play it cool, independent girls don’t love

The feelings rush into your heart as fast as gasoline setting on fire. It has been too long since you’ve felt this way and it burns deep. You try to play it cool as much as possible, but you’re the type to wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s inevitable – the wants, the needs, the desires.

Everyone tells you to let him come to you. At this age though, why is that still a thing? You’re over the games, you’ve dealt with being alone and you’ve experienced love followed by heartbreak. You know what you want and that shouldn’t be your fault.

The days you’re together are magical, and the nights those lead into are a fairytale. You start getting to know everything about each other. Staying up until 4 am asking and answering every question imaginable becomes routine. He gives no indication you’re moving to fast, no sign of turning back, no thought of wanting to slow down.

Then there come the nights he wants nothing to do with you. You’ve discussed the whole communicating thing and expressing feelings. You’ve had endless talks about your sensitivity and your neediness. At the time, he believes “it’s cute”, “it’s endearing”, but in reality, its pushing him away-until he’s gone.

Feelings of insecurity and hopelessness surround your brain. Second guessing yourself becomes a daily activity. Why isn’t he inviting me out with his friends? Why doesn’t he want to constantly spend time with me? Why doesn’t he try to go above and beyond? You’re used to being the pursued not the one pursuing and it’s killing you.

How is it fair that because feelings overwhelm your brain and because you acknowledge them, you’re in the wrong? I want a love that is pure and magical but apparently that is too much to handle.

I’m an independent woman. I am strong, I am smart, I am outgoing but all of that combined with knowing what I want, is against society’s norms. I am not allowed to express how I feel, I am crazy if I am too interested in someone, I am needy if I want to see the person I like multiple times a week.

I can’t control it though. I deserve a person that doesn’t just “handle” me but truly wants me. I deserve to not only feel happiness from myself but also from my partner. While some might think that’s too much to ask, it shouldn’t be.

I am not as forgettable as your silence is making me feel

As a 32-year-old single woman I’m pretty much living in the thickest part of the modern hookup culture – perfecting the art of getting the right guy to buy you a drink at a bar, crafting the perfect response to a text to make you seem just interested enough, taking the proper five seconds to adequately judge a person and determine whether or not to swipe left or right on Tinder. That’s the world I live in now and I have to confess: I hate it with every fiber of my being.

Maybe it’s because I let insignificant events ruminate in my mind far past their welcome. Or maybe it’s because I react too sensitively to the people with whom I share the world. Or maybe the modern dating scene is just horrendously fucked up. It’s probably all three, but in the interest of, well, maintaining your interest, let’s just talk about that third observation.

Everything is so damn complicated. Nobody asks you out on a date; they just ask you to have sex or hang out – so after you do, you can spend the next three days that you’re supposed to be ignoring them wondering exactly what it meant. Did you see a movie? Go to dinner? Have sex in your car? Be careful; you guys were just hanging out. It was just casual, right? I don’t know, I wonder what he’s thinking. What did our car sex mean to him? I have a simple solution for those of you who struggle with these haunting questions: ask the other person. Oh wait, you can’t. Hahaha. And here’s why.

We live in a world where people are afraid to feel anything genuine, or at the very least, are afraid to show it. When someone is angry with you, there’s no phone call asking to talk about it. Instead you get a passive aggressive response to a text message or a suspiciously relevant subtweet, quietly calling you out in 140 characters or less. If you like someone, you don’t tell them how you feel; rather you act interested enough for them to pick up on it, but not enough to freak them out. Don’t like it? Too bad. It’s all a big game and if you don’t play by the rules then you lose, and if you lose you end up alone and drowning in a pile of your own insecurity, wondering what you did wrong.

Don’t ask to hangout two nights in a row. If you texted first last time, you have to wait for him to text you first this time. Don’t double text. You can’t assume anything is more than casual, even if you’re having sex. But you can’t talk about it either. If you’re wondering where a relationship is going and you decide to bring it up, every word you say has to be carefully chosen so as to seem okay with any response you’re given, even if you’re not. Everything is done through texting. It’s weird to call someone in the modern world just to have a conversation or try to make plans, so we’re forced to wait anxiously for a response that might not ever come.

Then you can also be a victim to the slow fade. You know the one where you leave longer and longer response times between texts, don’t answer the phone calls or promise indefinitely that I will call “soon” (note there is no commitment of a definite time, that’s how detached everything is now). Real smooth man! Real smooth. Everything is calculated to appear thoughtless, and it is one of the most exhausting games I’ve ever had to play. I could earn my masters degree with the amount of time and energy it takes to determine whether or not my casual hookup actually has feelings for me.

If I like someone, I want to hang out with him. It’s as simple as that. Or at least it should be. But in the dating culture to which we are enslaved, it has to be more convoluted than that. If I talk to him too much, I’m needy. If I’m always free when he asks me to hangout, I’m clingy and have no life of my own. If he takes three hours to respond to my text, and my phone is in my hand when I get his reply, I have to wait to answer so I don’t seem too eager. And I am constantly wondering why I play these stupid games.

Why can’t I call someone because I like talking to him? Why does showing I care make me needy? If I act angry when a guy blows me off, I’m just a crazy bitch, so my only other option is to complain to my friends and wade in anxiety until he finally texts me back. And let me tell you something; I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want anyone to have that power over me. No one should have that kind of power over anyone. I am so tired of living in a world where apathy is more effective in getting someone’s attention than honesty. I’m tired of the manipulative games that men and women play with one another in an effort to maintain control in a relationship that we’re not allowed to define.

So here’s my idea: let’s all stop being little fucks. Respect other people enough to tell them the truth. If someone makes you happy, tell them. If someone inspires you, tell them. If you’re not interested in someone, please just fucking tell them. Don’t ignore people until they disappear. It’s time we grow up and stop leaving people hanging with unanswered texts and cryptic social media posts (I hate doing that). Please tell me that I’m not as forgettable as your silence is making me feel.

Everyone is human and we’re all just trying to understand one another in this messy dating world, so stop treating a relationship of any kind like it’s a challenge to complete. Be honest with other people about how you feel, and don’t get so lost in playing the game that you forget to extend that same courtesy to yourself.

Don’t swipe right to sweep me off my feet

Like all the impatient, lonely people, I am on Tinder. At night, wrapped up in blankets and velvet pyjamas, I find myself in the posture of a modern odalisque, swiping left or right and waiting for miracles to happen. Or at least something pleasant.

In the past year, I have been in touch with a chess grand master that turned on my sapiophile needs,  an editor of a magazine that praised my poetic style, an incredibly handsome man that looked and acted like a Greek god and a nomad that stopped his globe-trotting for a while to come meet me. I also had a date with an architect that almost made me lose my head.

All these and I am still alone. Because in a fast moving world in which immediate satisfaction is easily graspable, people started forgetting the basic rules of erotica.

The approach, the retreat, the longing, the looks, the desire to dissolve into the other person, the mental closeness. It is like a dance. I do not know if I am good dancer, but some people just keep stepping on my feet. Erotica is a dance that requires warm up and practice. A lot of practice.

My encounter with the architect that almost made me lose my head lasted about one week, enough time to pass through all the stages of a relationship. This is love in the times of Tinder, this is ars amandi nowadays. But now really, is it?

I met him on a Sunday afternoon at the end of summer. It was so hot that the city seemed to be standing still. As I was slowly approaching, he waved at me and I had that strange impression I am meeting an old friend, not someone for the first time in my life. We had a coffee at a terrace and introduced ourselves briefly in the same manner in which someone would stand up at a business meeting, saying: I am Laura, I paint and I write, I am looking for a lover. His name was John, he was an architect and he was looking for sex. But no one uttered these precise words, we just looked at each other, my gaze falling over the slight tremble of his heads, his eyes rolling over the tip of my long hair and my breasts.

How often did you ask this question: what do you want from me? How much peaceful would you be today if you did? I sometimes dream about a world in which people talk honestly about the way they feel and what they want because all the unspoken words and the misunderstanding they imply are those turning against us in the form of depression, resentment and frustration.

I really liked him, I liked his curly hair, his broad smile and a certain shyness that is so appealing to people with excessive imagination. When he grasped my hand in the bus stop at the end of our date, I could already feel thousands of bubbles of champagne exploding in my head. Somebody stop me before I become too cheesy and start talking like Doctor Heart. Or Paolo Coelho on drugs. Later that night, we took another step into our fast-forward relationship.

I found myself lying in bed and listening to his voice on the phone: what do you do right now, on which side are you lying, do you like it this way. You know, those things. Yeah baby, fuck me.

A few days later, the inevitable happened. But, dear God, what a pleasant inevitable! As my body was slowly abandoning, he kept whispering sweet nonsense to my oh-so-sensitive ears. I am not masochist, I am a woman and like all women, I am sucker for sweet words. If you say forever, I believe you.

And then, silence fell. Our fast-forward relationship was approaching the cold war times. No more how-are-you’s, no more proposals, nothing. So after some days of self torture, I decided to speak up my mind and I sent him a message:

I think people should not separate their emotional side from the physical side, they are strongly connected. I don’t know what you wanted from me and I didn’t get the chance to ask. I am a sensitive person and all my emotions build up inside. This is why I keep quiet sometimes and do not express my desires clearly. Now I am a bit upset because I was too impulsive and did not act in harmony with what I want. I really liked you and otherwise I wouldn’t have tried to reach you. But there is nothing what I can do. I will just go on looking for people that share a similar philosophy about what being a whole person means.

I still do not know for sure if erotica works on the rules of similarity or difference. But what I do know is that those who find themselves questioning loneliness often are at the same time those who enjoy dancing the most.

Try to leave a man and a woman alone in the same room for a while and see what happens. It is the same dance our parents did, standing at the roots of the great mystery that is life. People are born out of love and this is what keeps the world moving forward.

My name is (insert your name here), I paint and I write. I am looking for a lover. I used to be on Tinder, swiping left or right while lying on my left side in bed in my room, wrapped up in warm blankets and velvet pyjamas. Maybe a lonely man reads my text and would like to meet me. I hope I expressed my intention clear enough. I will do my best not to step on your feet when we dance.

This is my something borrowed from Laura Livia Grigori.

I’m in a relationship with the Whatsapp guy

I like you. I really like you.

You are what I usually look for when I think about things I want a man to be. You are tall, dark, handsome and charming just like the fairy tales say! You laugh and crack a funny joke when I say this because you have an intellect that can hold a decent conversation. You are a fitness freak and play sports to keep up your passion. You are ambitious, hardworking and someone every girl craves to be with. You said so yourself!

I wait to get your texts or the random selfie you send me through the day. (In which, you look hot af I must admit!) I know you sleep early so I try to get as much conversation with you as I can through the day. You wear braces and have an awkward demeanour when it comes to first impressions. I get that. Wow! I haven’t complimented a man in sometime and in so many words. So, I know I really like you.

I also feel the butterflies, you know the ones that my stomach created a grave yard for and I never imagined another set of species would survive there again but you did this to my stomach. It now hosts a various range and is now what I call a Butterfly Park!

What is this? I mean what are we doing here? I don’t know if our “relationship” will ever extend from the Whatsapp and iMessages to a phone call or FaceTime. Or if you are just talking to me in the hope of sleeping with me someday soon. And you know what? I am not so sure I would be able to resist the temptation.

We may have that phone call to have a really drunk date and make out session. Or maybe our first date will make you run for the mountains. You might meet me again or maybe we’ll meet once more at the bar and then awkwardly make up an excuse for work the next day. My desperate attempts to talk to you must give out different vibes. Maybe we’ll fall for each other or maybe we’ll fall back into the title of complete strangers when I see you next on Tinder and swipe left. I’m really not sure what you’ll be to me and what I can be to you.

I’m exhausted with just lusting for a man. I know you have those shoulder blades that I want to dig my teeth into. I knew it with every selfie I saw! It’s finally nice to talk to someone I know I might feel the sex with. I have concluded that we will have sex.

I know we aren’t each other’s firsts, and we probably won’t be each other’s lasts. We’ve already experienced our first kiss, first love, first heartbreak, first everything. You’ve probably slept with a handful of women, and I myself have done the same with men. You aren’t my first love, and there have been other guys before you that have changed the way I view ‘a relationship’. My emotions aren’t as innocent and raw as they once were. Life has changed me and it has changed how I am going to look at you.

I have a ‘whatever’ relationship stance with you right now. It’s not yet a crush, infatuation, fling, one-night stand or even a date yet. You are another guy on my address book who I think something might come out of it. I’m not naive and I’m not going to expect that anything will come of this until something does actually come of it. But to begin with, can I expect a phone call?

It’s been close to a month since we’ve begun texting which translates into speaking for the 21st century dating culture and I’m not going to put a label on this.

Dating has evolved into one giant twisted and fucked up game, and we all willingly play along. With the numerous Tinder, Grindr, Aisle, Truly Madly, Flo and Mingle apps it is a complicated game and I hesitate even before I get in.

If I like you, I’m going to tell you. But, don’t flatter yourself just yet, that doesn’t always mean I’m looking to be your girlfriend. Nor does it mean I’m quick to jump in and be your fuck buddy either. I’m not expecting a grandiose proposal or flowers at my doorstep.  It doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for you or you’re the person I want to have my babies with. So relax. I like the kind of person you are and I’d like to be around you more to know how that would feel. That’s all.

You can call me “crazy” for developing feelings, but I could say the same to you for being petrified of a relationship that was never even established in the first place. You aren’t looking for a commitment, but when did I say I was?

You aren’t my first guy. And you might not be last. Don’t string me along for your own entertainment but also don’t assume I’m looking for a committed relationship until I tell you that I am. Our “whatever” break up might sting for a little bit, but you won’t break me. Life moves on, and so will I.

I think deep. I think a lot. I imagine every single positive or negative scenario there is to us before I can make up my mind about what this status actually means. Like many I’ve been told by, I am stupid and insane to overthink. But this is me!

I know you don’t read so you finding this page is nearly impossible. But, even if you did, I hope it’s month later after the phone call, our first kiss, our first everything that you read to know that for once I went with the flow. Or maybe you will read when you find me again on Tinder and are wondering why we became strangers on a fateful day and my last seen was at 3:57AM when I wrote about the pain in my heart. I haven’t felt this crushing pain in months and years even. You sound like my next painful disaster.

I’m worried. Yet, I am drawn to you like I have opened up a secret sky full of stars, that I want to lie down next to you and watch. While I play with the cold neck chain hanging down on your shoulder and you caress my hair to kiss my neck. I’m jealous of this girl I’m imagining here. She is right there next to you.

And here I am sitting 18 KMS away from you, hoping you are sitting in the cubicle of your office just thinking of what it is like to be with this girl I’m texting and making mental notes of a blog you haven’t written.

What it is like to be guarded…

There’s a reason why my walls are built so high, and there’s a reason it will take you longer than expected to bring them down. There’s a reason why I’m guarded.

I’m guarded because I’ve been hurt before. We all have. My weakness is that I carry the pain with me as a constant reminder that it could happen again. And while this is such a cautious way to walk through life, while instead I could be wildly sprinting, the wild sprint has made me fall and trip before, and the scrapes and burns were painful. So painful that it takes a while to try and run that fast again. So I walk, and I walk carefully noticing my surroundings because I worry if I were to ever fall that hard again, I might not be able to get back up.

I’m guarded because I’m scared of what you’ll think, but not scared enough to admit it. I fear your disapproval like a little girl fears the monster under her bed, and right now I will just keep quiet to avoid any disturbance. I’m guarded because no one has ever protected me as well as I protect myself. My own armor has been stronger than yours, or his, or hers, and it will continue to be until someone shows me otherwise.

I’m guarded because I’m no stranger to failure, and while it has made me stronger, it has also made me more aware of how all of it can go wrong. I’m guarded because I’ve mistakenly invested my trust in those who took it for granted, and because of their disregard, I no longer hand out trust so easily.

I’m guarded because I see the damage coming before it even happens, and I know that the lucky ones will tell me how unreasonable, pessimistic, and sad this all sounds, but even when you try to tell yourself that this time is different, the reminder seeps back in. Life will bring hurt and pain, and people will disappoint you, but no one has the ability to break down your walls except for you. I’m guarded because I’ve chosen to be that way.

I think when you’re young, you’re hoping that this person will be the right one, the one you’re going to be in love with forever, but sometimes you want that so much you create something that really isn’t there. But I didn’t understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly he would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.

That is the way it is with a wound. The wound begins to close in on itself, to protect what is hurting so much. And once it is closed, you no longer see what is underneath, what started the pain. I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.