I still love the people I love ... even if it means crossing the street to avoid him

sending love and light

The most high is so good to me even when I'm not good to myself ....

there clearly dating but neither one wants to define it or say it out loud (don't want to jinx it) .... sounds familiar

Our intimacy feels so familiar, so right, so real Its where we want to be Its where we were meant to be Its what we both need however when its time to leave - you've never asked me to stay. "Its because of Her" you say "Her?" (blank stare/mass confusion) "Yes there has always been a Her" (Light bulb, blonde moment) that's why you've never asked me to stay. Fck you

truth is

I make mistakes. I have flaws. My being is comprised of imperfections. They are buried deep within me. I am insecure, and complex, and fragile, and sensitive. I desperately hope that no one can tell. Some mornings I am self conscious and look at my body with disapproval and disdain. I hide my gap toothed smile. I cross my arms so you can not see the way I have chewed my nails almost to the bone. I am anxious. I spend lots of time in the darkness and lurking in my own shadows. I am… afraid. On occasion, I am not brave. I do not possess the strength you assume. I sometimes say the wrong things. I avoid sharing the concealed parts of me. I cry…a lot. I won’t admit it, but some nights I just want to fall in love. I am confused, and frustrated, and lost and discouraged. I am often worried about the future and sometimes resentful of the past. I am abstract. I am intense. I am depthless; yet shallow. I am courageous; yet fearful. I am loud; yet unheard. I am beautiful; yet offensive. I am gathered; but in shambles. I am chaos. I am order. I am all of these things and none. I am a contradiction. I am a woman. I am only human. I am me and my beauty lies in the simplicity of my complexity. (www.themoxiemodus.com)

I pity the woman who will love you when I am done. She will show up to your first date with a dustpan and broom, ready to pick up all the pieces I left you in. She will hear my name so often it will begin to dig holes in her. That is where doubt will grow. She will look at your neck, your thin hips, your mouth, wondering at the way I touched you. She will make you all the promises I did and some I never could. She will hear only the terrible stories. How I drank. How I lied. She will wonder (as I have) how someone as wonderful as you could love a monster like the woman who came before her. Still, she will compete with my ghost. She will understand why you do not look in the back of closets. Why you are afraid of what’s under the bed. She will know every corner of you is haunted by me. Clementine von Radics