Pride & Prejudice

Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously.... Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.

Can someone please make Jane Austen rise from the dead, because she would actually teach us stuff. Her words are incredibly inspiring. I have been doing English for 4.5 years now and even though I must say I suck at it, I am trying my hardest to become good at English.
The reason?
Seems pretty obvious to me.

Jane inspires me.

Juggling coke bottles.

Hereby my new story. It's not about me, but you may pretend it is. If that makes you feel good.

I wanted to experiment and try something else for a change. My usual short stories are very short, very emotional. This turned out not to be that short. Nonetheless, in my own opinion, it is still very emotional, even though I didn't want it to be in the first place. When I was writing it, however, I got dragged along by the words a bit and I decided for the persona to be as emotional as the words wanted her to be.
I'm sorry if it shocks you. I'm sorry if it offends you. I'm sorry if you think it's too long.
But it made me feel good when I wrote it. Fiction is a great tool to help you paint the walls that you've built around you. It's a great tool to paint the walls inside your head with too. Sometimes, however, it can be considered a hammer, with which those walls are being knocked down. I still have to find out what kind of fiction this is. The paint? Or the hammer?





JUGGLING COKE BOTTLES:

I saw him coming towards me from across the other side of the trottoir. I had just smoked a cigarette and to act as if I hadn’t seen him coming in my direction, I pretended to be busy with pressing the fire out. After doing so, I opened my bag and pulled out of it a bottle of coke light. Unfortunately, I had never been good at opening bottles of soda in an elegant kind of way and this was one of those situations where it couldn’t possibly have looked less elegant. I opened the bottle and half of its contents came spilling out. The jeans I had been wearing, ceased being the spotless white colour they had initially been and as I saw the brown substance soak the fabrics enclosing my legs, I cursed under my breath. Of course I couldn’t remain anonymous this way and he saw me. Before I knew it, he stood right in front of me. He had a mocking look in his eyes, as he scanned my entire being. He did not only look at my body in a shameless way, but he also seemed to look right through me, as if he knew what was going on inside of me. As if he cared.

I shook this idea out of my brain and with an apologising smile, I stated: “Yeah... I’ve never really been good at opening bottles.” I shrugged and leaned in for a kiss. My eyes closed and my lips slightly pursed, I stood there for a couple of seconds, like a fish praying for a bit of air, until I opened my eyes to see he hadn’t moved a bit. He still had that mocking look in his eyes and it seemed to grow profoundly, when he saw how offended I was. He had rejected my lips in the middle of the street, with people looking at us, scrutinising every little thing we did and did not do. For a while, we just stood there, looking at each other. He didn’t move, the only thing that changed slightly, was his mouth. I could see he was trying to hold a smile back. What do you want? I begged him with my eyes. Then he turned around and said: “It’s that way.” Slowly, he turned his upper-body in my direction and gestured me to follow him, with a faint nod of the head. I picked up my bag and followed the mysterious person in front of me.

During the walk, we hardly spoke. He walked in front of me all the time and it felt a bit weird at first. At the moment I got used to the feeling of being ignored, he turned around. I immediately stopped walking as well and looked at him, curious of what he might do next. He stepped forward, in my direction. Every step he placed on the grey pavement, was placed confidently, yet cautiously. It was as if he walked in an incredible tedious slow-motion, but within a blink, his face was merely a couple of inches away from my face. Confused and still a bit offended, although also amused if I’m really honest, I pulled my body back, so I could have a proper look at the person in front of me. He wasn’t very tall; about two inches taller than I was. He had green eyes, with spots of brown in them, and a perfect nose. He had told me once that he had broken it four times, but I couldn’t see it; it was perfect. He had dark blond, curly hair, which he would mess up with his right hand, whenever deep in thought. He had a bit of a beard, not a long one, but one of those that men have when they haven’t shaved for about 5 days. He had big lips. He was chubby. He wore a childish T-shirt with a shark on it and a hole at one of the seems of his right sleeve. Frankly enough… It didn’t bother me. It didn’t even bother me that his right shoe was almost entire ripped from its sole. I could only look at those green eyes, with those tiny brown spots in them. Depending on how good the weather was, his eyes could become more of a mixture between sea-green and gold and whenever I looked into them then, it would feel as if I lost myself and drowned in them...

I felt his lips pressing against my lips. I felt his entire body pressing against mine. I felt his desire and I tried to hide mine, but I felt lost in his grip; I felt lost in his kiss. His hands were everywhere: first, he held my body against his, he pressed our bodies together as if he wanted to melt together, right there and then. Then he held my face, very gently, as if he was making up for the roughness of how the kiss had started out. His hands moved again and he held my head from the back. I felt his fingers run through my hair and his kiss became rougher again. I felt lost, I could hardly breathe and I wanted to get away from there; from him. But there was one thing that I wanted better: staying with him. I decided to let go of the desire and to share it with him. As I decided to do so, his grip softened and he stopped kissing me. He held my head; one of his hands at the back of my head, fingers entangled in my hair, and the other one brushed some hair out of my face. He leaned forward again and whispered something in my ear. “I want to fuck you. Right here, now.” I know, I thought to myself. I looked at him, smiled vaguely and tore myself away from him. “Too bad you need at least two people for that,” I was teasing him. Even though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do and this would go wrong. But that was what made it interesting. And irresistible.
He grabbed my elbow and pulled me to him. The confidence he did this with, disgusted me. You were the one that rejected me, what do you want?! I turned around and started walking away. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” he shouted after me.
“I don’t care, as long as I’m not with you, you arrogant son of a bitch,” I shouted back.
Before I knew it, he stood in front of me again, holding both of my elbows this time. I felt my head spin and my knees shake. It's never good to feel things like anger, disgust and desire at the same time.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"With me? What is wrong with me?! I'll tell you what's wrong with you, you fucker. From the first time I had you in my sight, I knew that I was going to hate you. I knew you were disgusting and you weren't going to be capable of doing anything that would not make me loathe you. You are revolting and impossible to be around and I can't believe I'm here. What do you want from me?" Shit, I didn't seem to be able to stop talking anymore. Nerves...
Silence.
"What do you want?!" I threw my hands in the air and felt like a whining little child. He was the only person that could make me feel that way; I wasn't that young anymore in the eyes of some and in the eyes of others, I was too young.
He spoke. "I told you. I don't want to give you any wrong impression, it's just physical. Everything you just said, is completely mutual, I can assure you." He drew closer to me and I could feel his breath on my skin. It made me shiver. He whispered in my ear again: "I know you want to fuck me, why would you even bother denying it?" He leaned back and hid little tangles of hair behind my ears. "You know it's going to happen anyway."
"Yes, I do. But having a shown path, doesn't mean I'm following its direction," I answered. He seemed a bit confused.
"Well.. Why are you here, then?" he asked matter-of-factly.
I smiled, leaned in and bit on his lower-lip. "Let's go," I said.
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he smiled and said: "You're such a tease," and followed me.

Arrived at his one-room apartment, I didn't know what to do; it all felt new to me, regardless the fact this wasn't the first time I was alone with a man. I felt his eyes scanning me again and to focus on something else, to feel less nervous, I looked around. On several places, there were juggling balls and against the fridge, stood a couple of clubs. "You can't juggle," I said, more to myself than to him. I turned around to look at him. "Why do you have this stuff?"
He shrugged and started to laugh. "Because I don't juggle, remember?"
"Of course." I bit on my lip. Touche.
I walked around, as far as that was possible, and put down my stuff. I put my coke bottle on the kitchen table and took off my new navy-blue jacket. He reached for my jacket and without thinking about it, I gave it to him and sat down on the bed, absentmindedly. He tried to throw the jacket on one of the cupboards, but instead, it fell on the floor. My new jacket.
"Oh no, you did not just...." I exclaimed, ready to attack him with my words which would remember him of how he disgusted me and of how I really didn't want to be there. Obviously.

Instead of picking my jacket off the floor that didn't seem to have had a proper cleansing in years, he came towards me and pinned me down on the bed. He kissed me roughly and again his hands were everywhere. And on more places. After a couple of minutes of kissing underneath our breaths, he undressed me. It wasn't the romantic, slow kind of undressing, but more like the hasty 'I-want-you-but-we-only-have-10-minutes'-kind of undressing. This is too fast, I thought. He stopped kissing me, at that very moment, and took off my bra in a surprisingly slow manner, while he looked me in the eyes. Oh, fuck it. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. This time it was I, who was pressing our bodies against each other. I could feel him and didn't want to wait anymore; he didn't seem to be willing to do so either. He pinned my arms down above my head, on the pillow, and started to kiss my entire upper-body. He pressed his soft lips on my skin and before I could take the time to enjoy it, I felt a stinging pain at the place he kissed me. He was biting me.
"Ouch! What the fuck do you think you're doing, dick?!" I sat up and looked at my breast. There was a gigantic red patch on it and my eyes went from my breast to his face, back to my breast, in awe. "What the fuck man! Jesus!"
He answered me with a grin and I saw his head go down again. He laid me down on the bed once more and licked the sensitive spot where he had bitten me and I could feel him smiling against my skin. "I know something fun..." he said to my belly.
"Oh, I bet you do," I moaned. I didn't like this. I wanted to get out of there. But I loved it. What is he doing? I wondered, and I pulled up my head to see what he was doing, but it wasn't necessary. I felt it; he was biting me in the side. It tickled and stung and I didn't know if it felt good or not. I wanted him to stop and I wanted him to go on, I wanted to kick my feet around and scream and I wanted to lie still and be quiet...

I smacked him on the head. Not very hard, but hard enough for him to stop biting me. "What the..." he said, bringing his head up to see what was going on. I slapped him in the face. Again, I didn't slap him very hard; just hard enough for him to know that I didn't want him and I wasn't attracted to him. Or something like that.
"You're a pig. I hate you. Let go of me, you're hurting me."
"I'm becoming a bit insecure when you keep reminding me of the dick I really am," he shot back at me. Ouch, you need quite the confidence to be able to say you're feeling insecure. Did I want to get out of there? Yes. Did I play along and stay anyway? Yes.
"Well, someone has to tell you. Get off me."
"You don't want me to get off you."
"Yes, I do," I tried to fight what I felt. I really tried.
He slapped me in the face. I felt my entire cheek glowing and was speechless for a while. Then something inside of me snapped. It was self-control. I literally felt the self-control flow out of me and ripped off my pants. I tried throwing them on the cupboard, but just like the jacket, it fell on the ground. On the other side of the room, one of the clubs fell down.
"It's hard isn't it?" he said, smiling, under his breath.
I got on top of him and got off his jeans. His T-shirt was off already, but I couldn't remember taking it off. Who cares. I nibbled on his ear and he said: "Stop it. Fuck me."
I ignored him and continued nibbling his ear.
"I'm not kidding, just fuck me already."

When he said that, I sat up. I looked at my watch and then at him. "Hmm.. I think I'd better go."
He sat up too and switched our positions again. He pushed me against the bed and when I tried to get up, he slapped me in the face again. But this time, I liked it. I knew I deserved it; it was what I had been asking for all along, after all. Fine, I'll admit it. Damn it.

When we were done, we did it again. After that, David got up, pulled on a pair of black boxers and picked up the juggling clubs that were standing against the fridge. The one that had fallen down, had rolled away, so he picked up the next best thing he could juggle with, instead of that club. He found my coke bottle and started juggling with it.
I looked at him for a while.
"I take it back."
"Hm?" It looked cute, the way he juggled; wearing nothing but that pair of boxers, sticking the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, in utter concentration.
"You're a true juggler."
I watched him again, for a little while, then he dropped one of the clubs and I had to laugh.
"Is it like, your cigarette after sex or something?!"
"Nah. It's more something to bring me back to reality.." he answered.

I stood up, took a short, steaming hot shower and put on my jacket on the way out. He didn’t hold the door for me, nor did he have the decency to stand up. Why was I so attracted to this asshole?
I walked up to him, he still sat on the edge of his bed. Juggling, of course. I waited for the right moment and when I saw he stuck his tongue out of his mouth a bit again, I snatched one of the things he was juggling with out of the air. It was my coke bottle. To be honest, I was a bit surprised I had actually caught the bottle, as my reflexes aren’t that good, usually. I took the cap off the bottle and put the little opening to my lips. It tasted… Like nothing. It made my face twist and I put the cap back on the opening. He took the bottle from me and pulled me down by my hair, gently. He kissed me. "When am I seeing you again?"

What is this? I thought to myself. He didn’t want to give me any wrong impressions, but what was he doing? Exactly, giving me wrong impressions. But were they wrong? What-is-this?!
“How about.. Never? This was a one-time mistake. I do not know what will happen if we make it again and I do not wish to find out.” I bent over him and kissed him very softly on the corner of his lips. He turned his face away, didn’t look at me. Seeming not to use any breath whatsoever, he said: “You should go then. Otherwise I’d have to make you find out.” He still didn’t look at me. Why do you enjoy hurting me so much? Why do you not care? Why?
Without saying another word, I got my bag and walked towards the door. Door-knob in my hand, I realised something. My coke bottle. I walked back and snatched the bottle from his bed. “That is mine, thank you very much,” I snapped at him. But he didn’t look at me, didn’t seem to hear me.

I stood in the elevator and just before the doors closed, I saw his face, bewildered. He was holding my navy jacket. “Wait, you left your…” But it was too late. The doors had closed before he could finish what he had begun. I loved that jacket, but I knew I would not go back up to claim it. I knew I couldn’t.

I never saw him again in private. Sometimes, when meeting up with friends, he would be there, but we would pretend nothing happened. I was happy we could pretend to be friends. I was happy no one else knew. From time to time, however, I could see him throw a glance in my direction. It made me wonder what he had done with my jacket.

Now where's the pink paint? Let's fuck this white canvas up a bit!

I like writing about things that have never happened to me. I like to imagine what it would be like to have them happening to me. I sometimes cry because I know that it is merely fiction that I write, and life isn’t really a fairytale. It is a tale, indeed, but I don’t know what kind of tale. I hate to admit it, but I think I’d have to agree on Macbeth’s phrases:

“Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing! Signifying… Nothing.”

Sometimes I wonder what I will be remembered as. The random girl? The girl that talked to strangers? The girl with the big nose and a space between her two front-teeth? The girl next door? The exception? The caring one? The jealous one? I don’t know. I don’t even know how I’d like to be remembered. Of course it is nice if you’re remembered for who you were, not for what you looked like. But is this realistic? People don’t really know you. I know that, because they don’t know me either,- and I don’t know anyone myself. Who we are, are little cities inside our minds. We are our own architects and we have, subconsciously, chosen to become who we are. External factors helped us in becoming who we are nowadays, but our actions are chosen by ourselves. Maybe the people around us helped us in designing the cities in our heads, but we built them ourselves. We changed what we wanted to change and we have chosen the colours we painted our walls with. Spectators do not know what our cities look like, they can only think they know. They see us walking through our own streets, living lives inside of ourselves. They have to guess what we are seeing: the colours, the shapes, the weather… Sometimes they may be right, most times they’re really not. Sometimes we try to explain, but never will they see. Never will they understand; never will they know.
This is one of the reasons why I like writing so much. Or why I used to like writing so much. It’s the feeling of being in total control of your life and to let people think they know you. When I write in the 1st person, people immediately think I am writing about myself, about something that has happened to me in real life. People think I am just re-telling a situation, whereas I am only building up the city in my head when I'm telling a story. I hardly ever write about myself. I have noticed that as soon as people start to think they know you, they couldn’t be more wrong. That is why Greg scared me with his words, telling me I’m a scared person. He is one of those exceptions you might only run into once. On the other hand, I might as well write about myself and publicise the stuff, because people get the wrong impression of me anyway.

Considering the fact I'm sick at home and didn't even go to school today (I always go to school), I might write another story. The first one this year. It's about time.

Let's finish with another piece of Pierre Balmain.
And one of the best dresses in history. And in the future. I wish I knew the guy. Where he gets his inspiration from.. Is a mystery. Although I must say that the city of Paris isn't that unusual when it comes to arousing inspiration and ideas for a reason....
Love Pierre.

RANDOMS THAT MAKE ME SMILE.

So simple it's almost childish. Some people hate it, others love it.

I'm one of the lovers. How about you?

Brightly coloured skinny jeans: totally my thing. I have a regular pair of skinny jeans and a black pair. Can't live without them. As soon as I wear them, people ask me if I lost weight, which is never a bad thing to hear (:

Why, oh why do I love this picture so much? It's not only the things she's wearing.. True, it's simple, yet 'totes gorge', but it's also the aesthetics of the picture and the use of colour. Being a big fan of photography and what it can do to people, I must say that this is an excellent magazine-pic. (And, omg, the SHOES!)

Love Balmain. Always have, always will. His pieces are timeless and breathtaking. The legs of the models in this picture are a bit scary, but the dresses are making me drool. I love the big smile he has on his face, hehe. My favourites in this picture are his own outfit and the dress on the right. Talk about style!

O amor é uma companhia

O amor é uma companhia.
Já não sei andar só pelos caminhos,
Porque já não posso andar só.
Um pensamento visível faz-me andar mais depressa
E ver menos, e ao mesmo tempo gostar bem de ir vendo tudo.

Mesmo a ausência dela é uma coisa que está comigo.
E eu gosto tanto dela que não sei como a desejar.
Se a não vejo, imagino-a e sou forte como as árvores altas.
Mas se a vejo tremo, não sei o que é feito do que sinto na ausência dela.

Todo eu sou qualquer força que me abandona.
Toda a realidade olha para mim como um girassol com a cara dela no meio.

                                     Alberto Caeiro

I want to jump: over the moon

"I gotta get outta here -
It's like i'm being tied to the hood of a yellow rental truck, being packed in with fertilizer and fuel oil, pushed over a cliff by a suicidal Mickey Mouse"

I actually do.
I finally know what it's like.
I feel more insignificant than I thought was possible in the first place.
But I guess that that is where I went wrong: assuming that feeling insignificant is finite, whereas it actually isn't. Insignificance is infinite and realising this, makes my heart and soul cringe.

Who needs enemies when they've got 'friends' like you anyway?
I hate love.
I actually hate it.

It's the only thing in the entire essence of existing that is worth hating. The only thing I am capable of hating.



Thank you very much.

I do.

I just want to say that I love you.

Sad sad tree.. You look so cold and loneleee..

And I hate it when you start worrying.
Sometimes I wonder why I even tell you the stuff I tell you. Or why I ever told you the stuff I told you. There is no point in becoming close with someone of whom you know that that person is leaving in half a year. Because that is all we've got: half a year.
It is insane,- this feeling. Everything rages inside of me and you're one of those people who are dangerous in the way that they gain my trust way too easily. I have seen you.. What? 2 times? And we've talked on the phone 2 times as well. I don't know. I just hate it when I give someone my trust and I even hate it more when I do so and that certain person starts to worry about me. Just.. Close your eyes and think of rainbows and multi-coloured butterflies when you're starting to worry, okay? Promise me that.


They took down the lights in the tree in front of our house. It's dark now, cold. I feel lost.
I wish they put them back in.
As far as I can remember, they kept them in for quite a while; even until a bit after Chinese New Year! Maybe I'm just taking this way too personal. Maybe someone up there really has it in for me.. I only wish that they put the lights back in the tree. It makes me sad to see how that tree is so pathetically... Naked. And I hate to see it naked when it's cold like this. It makes me feel sad.
And lost.


I want to get to know you better. I'm just afraid of another broken heart. Maybe even two.. And who knows three.

It's been your word, you made your stand.
You got me crying, as well as you planned..
But when my loneliness is through..
I'm gonna find another you.

You take your sweaters,
you take your time.
You might have your reasons,
but you will never have my rhymes.
I'm gonna sing my way away from blue;
I'm gonna find another you.

When I was your lover,
no one else would do.
If I'm false to find another,
I hope she looks like you.
Yeah and she's nicer too.

So go on baby;
make your little getaway.
My pride will keep me company,
and you just gave yours all away.
Now I'm gonna dress myself for two:
once for me and once for someone new.

I'm gonna do some things you wouldn't let me do..
Oh, I'm gonna find another you.

The BEST of blogs award. YAY!

The best blogs in the world deserve an award.
I know it's pretty lame, because I don't know these people personally, but hey,- isn't that the fun thing about blogging?!

I'd like to give this award-thingy to:

Tinsley
Laurel



They never cease to inspire me and I almost daily look if they have any new posts.
Whenever they do have new posts on their blogspots, I have to keep myself from jumping out of my chair and do a victory dance.

Thank you for the inspiration, girls!
You rock!

Aaaaaamenn!!

Amen.
A-fucking-men.

oh my

^I don't like the pathetic, hardly existing arms on the left, but the thing stuff she's wearing.. Absolutely stunning! I would kill to be able to wear things like that on a night out. Unfortunately.. I've got them curves going on..

^God, the SHOES. I like the left shoes better than the ones on the right, but I would look better with the black heels. I really really need money to buy new stuff :(

I cut my hair and drink a latte. Lalala.

Must.have.this.hair.

My family would start making fun of me again, because of the fringe. But if I straighten my hair constantly, it will look like this constantly and there is no way that that is ugly. Not even on me and my deformed face (according to some). This would make my eyes look bluer (I have the picture for proof).
I am going to cut my hair and thin it out. Like, a lot.
In the first place, I was looking for short haircuts with curly hair, but it's only nice if your hair is really really curly and there are some days when my hair just doesn't want to curl the way I want it to. Argh.
Ah well. Shall I cut my hair this way? Or not?
I really like it (:

FEEDBACK PLEASE. I LOVE YOU.
[Remember that I'm not the one that has to look at the results. It's you guys.]

a Sunflower

There really is no stopping me now.
This is a story I started writing for my English teacher who is really keen on the idea of starting an after school writing workshop. I'd love to do the workshop, especially considering the fact that I never write anymore..
I should really finish this story, but I'm afraid I got 'out' of it as soon as I stopped writing it. But who knows.. I might give it a shot.
Do you like it?



A SUNFLOWER:

Her face, tender as the night but, though as poetic as Shakespeare's sonnets, often mistaken by photographs, had lost its usual white state, for the weather hadn't been awfully bad that summer.
Her personality was as uncatchable as the wind, but as destructive too. In the way she'd hardly ever let a word slip her lips, the mystery kept in her blue eyes, remained one of the most mysterious of mysteries.
When one speaks and uses words in his (or in this case: her) explanation, the characters which form the words, get blown away by the wind. She'd never liked the idea of words getting blown apart, so she'd -most of the time- keep them to herself. In that way she and her thoughts would stay together and she couldn't get things mixed up by losing some of the characters... And as the wind had never really been generous to her and didn't return any formerly lost characters, she didn't want to have the risk that she would forget anything again. She remembered more by not speaking and remembering things was getting more and more important, especially now.. Things were bad enough already.
And by the way - one learns more through observation than through discussion. Whilst discussing, one may lose eye on the true core of the discussion or, even worse, not hear the things that are yet to be heard.
She heard everything and even without letting go of a singular word, she could attract people to her, like bees to honey or mayonnaise to french fries. She could invite them to come even closer than they already were, for the faint blushing of her cheeks made her look happy and outgoing (even though I'm not quite sure if she really was).
Thank God she was alone right now,- sunsets are only to be seen in utter silence. She loved the idea of getting sucked into the sea, just like the sun did that afternoon. She loved the idea that every little sparkle in the water was a question, an answer or perhaps even a lost soul, waiting to be found...
Oh, the touch of the last sunbeams on her shoulders after a long, hot day at the beach! She could stay there forever, if the word itself hadn't already given away its finity. And, of course, if it wasn't for The Partay to take place that night.
She took a peek at her new pink watch with hearts on it and noticed she had to hurry. Ah well.
She got up and started walking, humming a song of which she didn't even know it existed.
~~~~~~
The wine tasted mighty sweet. Where most men turned their backs on the intoxiating smell, the women seemed to be liking it more and more with each swig they took. The air was filled with their laughter and the clinging of their glasses, which both probably wouldn't stop before the break of dawn.

My shiny new shoes.

Another story. Sorry, I think this is the most unproductive Sunday of my entire life. I have only been surfing the internet and I found a couple of my old stories. They make me want to write again.
What would you like to read?



MY SHINY NEW SHOES:

I grabbed her hand and hold it tight. Then I quickly looked down, to the ground underneath our feet. My shoes looked old and pretty dirty, but that's the way I like 'em best. Her shoes, however, were looking all shiny and new - they couldn't possibly fit her comfortably.
She pinched my hand and I looked up, to her tiny, beautiful face. I loved her - oh, how I loved that girl.
I smiled but then with a sob she began to cry.
'What's wrong?' I tried asking. 'What..' was what slipped off my lips.
It was probably the most scary moment in my entire life and I - I just didn't know what to do.

She told me the tears she was crying for me were like the tears God uses to cry for the weather. They're just necessary.
She kept smiling while the tears kept falling down from her gracious eyes - oceans of naked emotions. They rolled down, all the way down to her chin, as the waves washed upon the beach and got absorbed by the sand on my hand.
'I really love you, you know.'
-'I.. I do.' I pinched her hand.
'It's just..'
-'What? What is it?'
'I just don't wanna lose you. I would miss you too much.' Another sob.


I woke up next morning to find she'd already left.
And all she left behind, was a note on my desk -

To the most wonderful person I've ever met.

I was so scared of you - you can't even imagine. I was scared of calling you up, talking to you or doing anything with you, really. Oh, I was so scared. You and that horrible perfection of yours. Damn all of it.

The day you were gonna realise how perfect you are, was going to arrive soon anyway. And I just could not wait till that day.
So I'm sorry, but there was no other option left. I could not just wait till the day you were gonna leave me. I could not just.. Well, I couldn't. I'd rather leave myself, with a wonderful last memory of you, than just sit here and wait for you to do it.
I'd rather jump in front of a train with a magnific memory of us, still fresh on my mind - knowing all about our love.. Than jumping in front of that train, due to selfpity.

And now all we were and were not - is written in the clouds.


I loved you..
And I still do.
Forever
& ever more

Yours.



PS: I left you my shoes.
Please don't forget me.




I stood up and burnt the goddamn piece of paper.
I got on a train and with tsunamis gushing out of my eyes, I opened a window. And threw the ash away.
Now all we were and were not - is written in the clouds.


I won't ever forget you.





When I came home, I was exhausted. I went to my room immediately and fell on my bed - I was almost sleeping already.

But then I remembered - I had forgot something.
I looked around in my room and there they were - all shiny and new. She'd put a red ribbon on them and then settled them under my chair. As if they were never used and will never be used, either..
At a stretch I got on my feet and put the shoes on. I sat there, on the ground and I couldn't stop crying.
And that's how I fell asleep that day.
And the day after.

And the day after that.

Coconuts and Rain.

I have decided to post some of my stories.
I'd love to get some feedback on them. Tell me what you like, tell me what you don't like.
Tell me what you want to read next.

Because I actually care.



COCONUTS AND RAIN:

"Baby, look at me. Who would have ever thought that we would be standing here together? I can't even believe it myself.. How many times did I not almost leave you? And how many times did you not almost leave me?? You cannot just forget all that. You cannot just abandon all the work we put into this. You cannot just.." Silence. I tried to stay breathing and keep my heart in my chest. It was as if it was pounding so hard, that it could come out any time soon. I took a deep breath and blinked a couple of tears away. I gulped the lump in my throat down. "You cannot just leave."

He looked at me. Silent tears were streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," he said. One tear dripped off his chin. "I'm so sorry."
And with those words, he turned around and started walking away. My glance followed his back and saw how he turned around and looked back one more time. One time only..

And that's when I let the tears stream down my face. My ears forgot how to hear and couldn't hear all the sobs my body let out, but I could feel my chest humping up and down like crazy. My knees forgot how to carry all of my body weight and so I sank into the floor. My head forgot how to think and there I lay: on the ground, half conscious/half unconscious,- my tears making ripples in the little pool underneath me. If it weren't for the weather, I would've thought it had all come out of my eyes..


I stopped crying and I just thought of everything that had happened.
What... How... It wasn't very productive.
..His hair has the scent of coconuts. He uses this special shampoo, you see. German shampoo. And it smells great. Always when I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do, is sniffing his hair for a bit and then get up to get him some juice. I don't even know whether he likes the juice or not, but he always drinks the glass down till the last drop, which must say something about him, I guess..


When the rain stopped, something inside me snapped. I think I woke up,- literally and figurally. I tried to get up. My head was filled with saw-dust and I couldn't think straight. I don't know for how long I've been crying on the floor there, but it couldn't be less than three hours and a half; except for the streetlamp, some couple of meters ahead, it was almost completely dark.
Whilst walking in the direction of where I supposed my bike should be, I saw him. With his back he leaned against a tree, his head hanging down; as if waiting for something,-
or someone.

And before I could even think of why he stood there and what was best for me to do, I started running. I don't believe I've ever run that fast before, but at least.. It was for a certain purpose. Him. I knew that if I really didn't want to lose him, I had to give it my everything. I had to show him I cared, that I wanted him back. And that I meant it, when I had promised him all those times, that I would never let go of him.
And so I ran and ran. And ran. Till I stood right in front of him. We stood in front of each other and looked each other right in the eye and after a moment or three, he hugged me. He pushed his chest against my chest and I felt his heart beating against mine. Or was it mine against his?


"Baby?" His grip softened, but didn't let go.
"Hmm?" I still wasn't really able to talk, as you lot most probably understand.
"I'm sorry," his voice broke and as I heard, I grabbed him and held him tight.
"I love you," it's ok, I whispered. "I love you."
And as I did so, I sniffed his hair. It didn't smell of coconuts, funny enough. It smelled of rain. It smelled of hair that had been in rain. For a long, long time.





And that was when I knew I loved him.
And that we would be fine.

Painfully gorgeous.

Please, daddy?

I actually have clothes that fit with this coat. It pains my heart how absolutely gorgeous this is..

Curiosity.

There is this really big big attraction thing going on. I don't know how to explain it, because it hasn't happened that many times before, at least not when the attraction was mutual.
His name is Greg and it is insane how annoying I find him. He knows everything better and he rebuts everything that I say. Of course, I'm not too easy towards him and I do exactly the same thing. I keep repeating how repulsive he is and how much he disgusts me, but this only makes the attraction stronger and stronger. I've met him a couple of times now and every time I see him, there is something that draws me to him. It is not only attraction. It is not only lust. It is curiosity.

A couple of days ago, I sat down on the kitchen table (yes, on) and talked to my mother.
'Mom I've kissed a boy today. And I liked it.' (lol)
-Oh, and who is this boy?
'His name is Greg. He lives in Wan Chai.'
-Oh.
'I think that.. You know.. Soon, I will....'
*Silence.
'Well, you know..'
*Silence. Then, the enlightenment.
-Oooohh.

A couple of days later, she asked me if we were a couple. I told her the truth.
'No, but we are unofficially, I think. I don't know, to be honest. It's a bit.... Getting started, but not there yet, you understand?'
-Hmm.
'I mean. Look, it's like this: he would have the right to be angry if I would kiss someone else and I would have the right to be angry if he would do so. So in that way, you could say that we're together.'
-Hmm..
That was it basically. I don't know what else to tell her. I have been wearing a scarf since Wednesday now, because of all the hickeys he left in my neck, but it's so weird to tell your mother that you've got hickeys. It's not like I'm going to show her..

It is funny to think of how I'm not with Greg. We only have the physical thing going on. Not too long ago, Tim S. and I broke up, because of the entire distance thing. About a month and a half, Greg and his girlfriend broke up as well and he told me he's still not over it. This is a good thing, actually, because I'm not over Tim B., let alone Tim S. We decided to keep things only physical.
'I don't want to give you any wrong impressions. It's just physical.'
-I know.
So we've been pretty clear about this from the beginning, to prevent anything from going wrong. But something did go wrong. I don't know who, but someone crossed the line. If I am completely honest, I have to say that I think it was him. He started telling me about his girlfriend and how he wasn't over her. He started to say out loud, what he thought I was and why. He said that the best thing about me was, that even though I had been through a lot in my life (he didn't even know half of it all), I was still standing here, with my arms spread, ready to take everything as it comes at me. He said that he admired me for how I catched up all the punches, fell down and kept getting up on my feet again, to open my arms to invite life's punches in again. That is the biggest compliment someone has ever given to me. After saying this, however, I asked him what he thought would be the most hurtful thing to say to me,- what would hurt my pride. He could never be more right. 'Don't take this wrong: but you are a coward. You're scared.' Never ever in my life, have words touched me more than those 11 words at the time. Re-reading them makes me blink with astonishment. I never knew that anyone could come so close to the truth and be so shameless to actually say it out loud. I love it.
But what I don't love, is getting wrong impressions. And even though we were being extra clear, so we would prevent anything bad from happening, and said it would only be physical, he did, in fact, end up giving me a wrong impression. He was the one that said 'no intimate stuff, no emotional stuff, etc.', but he was also the one that started 'the intimate stuff' and 'the emotional stuff'. I do not know what to think now, but I have to admit that thinking that he's starting to actually like me, is the last thing I will allow myself to do. Especially considering the fact that this happened on the second day of the 'physical thing'.

Is that a good sign? Or a really, really bad one?

Won't you stay around and.. follow me?

I would KILL for this outfit, and the bad thing is that I'm not even joking.
This is the most gorgeous outfit for daily life, I have ever laid my eyes upon and even though I have to admit that I hate copycats, I am not going to have a proper night of sleep until I have copied every single item that Leighton Meester (❤❤) is wearing on the left here.

If I'm being completely honest, I don't think that this outfit would look good on me. The colours would,- I have about the same facial structure and the same hair- and skin-colour, but the dress wouldn't. I have quite a big 'bottom' and even though my legs look alright when I'm wearing heels, the ass doesn't all of a sudden disappear.

I love lace and ..oh my... Won't you look at those three quarter sleeves! I hate long sleeves and short sleeves are even worse than long sleeves, so what I do, is wearing long sleeves (most of the time), and I roll them up to the three quarter length.
This only makes the outfit more perfect than it would already be with long sleeves or, for that matter, no sleeves at all.

I can't wait till I'm able to do some CRUCIAL SHOPPING again. I'll just have to wait till I'm working again.... But for now,- the internet will have to lessen the thirst.
A bit.

Cherchez la STAR.

But who is your favourite?
Mais laquelle c'est ta favorite?

Realise that that could have been you.

The wonderful Kate Moss.
To be honest.. I didn't like her at first, but the older I got, the more I could appreciate the pictures that had been taken by her and now I'm even waiting to see more of her, even though she's an "old" model now.
This woman, ladies and gentlemen, is not, I repeat: NOT, pretty. Or gorgeous. Or extraordinary. Or anything like that. No, this woman, in fact, looks like she could be our neighbour. She looks like the girl next door, like one of the female creatures that you see strutting through the ailes of supermarkets. But she is not only that. She is also a beakon of hope. Why? Hrm, let me tell you.
Even though there aren't many women that would actually admit this, I do. And I will. Here it is:
Kate Moss is a beakon of hope for all the average, every-day looking female beings in our society. She is nothing special, but she was spotted and became world's most talked off model! What does this have to do with hope? Women seek reasons to make themselves feel better. Of Kate Moss we can say that she is 'actually not all that pretty', but we still have to consider the fact that she is the queen of all top-models. She owns. She's the creme de la creme when it comes to modeling and this is a satisfying thought. "That could have been me," we can say to ourselves, when we look in the mirror and admit to that what we are seeing isn't too pretty but definitely not too ugly either. We can see models in ourselves. Kate Moss makes us believe in ourselves as models, women of whom we normally would think as extraordinarily good-looking creatures, and she does it by being what she is: an average-looking supermodel.
I have to admit that I love her for it.

Take a look at these and take a moment to realise that that could have been you.
You're most probably average-looking (maybe you're not, but I'm talking about the average person that reads blogs of strangers), but you could be all this.

And so much more..

You just have to take the time to realise.