Ridiculous. Inconvenient.

Two blacks, one blue, one red. New scissors. A new notebook. Hopeful. Very.

***

Dinnering in Greenbelt. Alone. I'd invite him, but I know I'd feel lonelier. So I sit. With food that I know I'd never finish. By myself. Alone, but less lonely.

The person who asked me to stay home with him on a Saturday night to watch Master Showman - he's not coming back. He's but a trick that my eyes played on me.

I'm moving forward.

***

"You're not in love with him, Ate."

"I don't know."

"Were you in love? Ever?"

"Yes. Once."

"Oh. I know."

"Yes."

I refuse to believe that lightning never strikes the same place twice.

***

Yes, this is me with lazy fingers, and an even lazier brain. I'm tired. Of thinking things over. Grappling for the right words, saying them, and then seeing that it aggravates matters by exponential proportions. I'm tired. He is, too. We deserve better than perpetual frustration. Must let go.

***

Oft ripped, ripped one more time, but can't find it less true for myself:

"I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love." - Carrie Bradshaw, SATC