My Lust(re)ful Lovelife

Go get a box of tissues before you start reading this, will you? Because in this post, I’ll tell you about my very (former) lust(re)ful lovelife. Kidding. Don’t get the tissues. Just get some popcorn because this might be long - I’m not entirely sure if it will because someone may decide to pop infront of my house and I have to do the social protocol and give them a million dollars, okay.

So as you all may have (or not because maybe you are not a stalker) heard that I broke up with my boyfriend of almost two years and this is going to be a melodramatic diary entry about that breakup. Or not really. This may have those advices that no one is asking for and so on but I am a brokenhearted woman so you all have to be great friends and bare with me; and before you start thinking that I am a bad speller, I really meant bare. I want to know you better so let’s go skinny dipping together.

Before this gets any more weirder, I’ll start talking about the serious stuff. My (ex) boyfriend and I broke up ages ago, really; however, we kept on getting back together. It’s like we have some connection that couldn’t be broken, you know? It’s like, I try to move on and I do - for the first few months. Then something happens and I was being sucked into the blackhole of weird feelings and sticky cheesiness again. And then we talk and I start falling in love with the guy for the millionth time.

(I do know that lots of people say that I’m too young to know love. All I have to say is screw you. Age is just a number and that statement is so cliche but I do. Or at least I would like to think that I do. I want to believe that I am capable of loving and being loved back. Don’t we all?)

But all great things must come to an end and just like everything, we did too. It’s sad. You know those couples who seem to love each other very much? Those couples who look like they’ve got everything they need just because they’re together? And then one day, they’re just gone? The romance and passion all burnt out and all that’s left are their hopes that one day, it will all come back. And then they start working their asses off, they try so hard because they’re in it together.

But I didn’t try hard enough. I don’t think I did. It’s sad but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess I was tired of fighting against the world; tired of hiding. I was tired and there was nothing that I could do.

So I gave up.

We both did.

And this is the end of the story. No more moping around, no more crying. No anything because it’s time to move on. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I know a lot of things though. You know how people say lift with your knees? Don't do that because I promise, lifting with your hands is way easier. Also, I know that if something’s meant to happen, it will. That’s what I think anyway.

Because I have to believe in something that makes sense.

Is it time for skinny dipping yet?