Do I look like fucking America?

"I want to explore you," said the man I'd met in person only minutes ago.
I smirked, rolled my eyes, and waited for more bullshit to come rolling out of his mouth.
"I want to know what it's like to touch you. All of you. Every inch of your beautiful smooth skin," his long thing fingers reached out for my face and stroked my cheek.
My stomach lurched.
"I'm not having sex with you," I said, my voice flat and unaffected by his determined words.
He smiled, leaned forward, and laid his lips against my jaw.
My throat tightened and I pushed him away.
"We don't have to have sex. I want you, and all of you. I want to explore this passion I feel for you," he grabbed my hand and shoved it to his chest. "I want to know why you make my heart feel this way."
I couldn't feel a damn thing.
He wrapped his fingers into my hair and leaned forward so I could feel the cold breath of a kiss brush against my neck. My body tensed.
"I want to explore you," he whispered into my ear, trying to be seductive, sensual, and charming.
Not so much.
I pressed my hands against his shoulders and shoved him away.
"Look," I replied, "You're not Colombus and I sure as hell am not your America. Go explore somebody else ya creep."
I grabbed my jacket, and scrambled for my purse. My eyes narrowed in disgust as i saw confusion pass his face.
"Oh please, like you think that 'explore' shit was going to work on me," I hissed. "Have a nice fucking night loser. No means no."
I opened up the door to his jeep, popped out of the passengers seat, stuck my tongue out at him, and slammed the door shut.
Fucking creep.

When we run

It's been a while.
Blogging has been one of the last things on my mind lately.
I miss him.
I miss him so much.
It's hard to tell myself it wasn't what I wanted when I want it so bad now.
I don't know why I want it now. I didn't want to be with him when I was with him,
but now that he's gone?
Now that he isn't mine?
I want him back.
But I will not request such a thing.
Miserable with him.
Miserable without him.
It's hard to remember that I was miserable with him.
But I was.
The last four months that we were together I was miserable.
And yet..
I wonder in the back of my mind and the back of all my thoughts..
I wonder..
Would things have gotten better had we stuck it out?
Would I have been as happy with him as I was in the beginning if I had just seen things through?
Maybe.
I mean.
He was gone for seven months out of the fourteen we dated.
That's a rather large chunk of time.
And within the first ten days of him being home for good
we broke up.
we ended.
we stopped trying.
I can't help but wonder if we should have kept trying.
Eight months ago I was the happiest person around.
With David.
I had found love unlike any I'd ever dreamed possible.
For the first time in my life I could see myself settling down with someone
having a family
children
love
house
jobs
happiness.
I could actually see myself spending forever with someone.
That was a first.
And now that I'm thinking about it I think of how silly it was to feel that way. To feel that way and to have been as young as I was. Only seventeen when we first started dating.
I had never been happier in the first six months we spent together.
I was a whole new person that wanted different things, a different future, a different life.
This might make no sense.
But I was so happy, even if I had changed.
I changed when I fell in love with David.
Before him I never wanted to get married,
have a family
children
love
house
jobs.
But I found happiness in his arms.
And all that changed.
But that wasn't me.
But with him it was.
happiness.
I found it with David.
For the first time.
Ever.
Only seventeen.
Ha.
What was I thinking?
It happens to us all.
I love him. I can't deny. I loved him so so much.
But he was wrong for me.
And I was wrong for him.
But I was still happy.
Being the new me that I was. I was happy.
Being David's girl.
until he left.
for the marines.
He left.
And the real me came back.
why is that so hard for me to accept?
I like the real me.
I like her a lot.
But she isn't as happy as David's me.
But can I ever be that girl again?
Can I ever-- do I even want to be that girl again?
See..
i don't know.
I don't think I do want to be that girl.
I want to be this girl. and happy all the same.
This makes me sad.
Sad that I can't figure out what I want.
But I think I might be well on my way.
We'll see..
Until next time...
C.R. Daniels

Yowch. Didn't see that one coming.

David and I broke up.
Bam.
Straight through the heart like a bullet to the brain.
I don't know if that synonym made any sense.
But my mind makes little sense in this moment.
Shit.
Wasn't expecting that.
Sure.
I bitch about it a lot and knew that really I needed to break up with him-- but I could never bring myself to do so.
Because I'm so fucking attached to him.
And now.
He's gone.
And I feel like my heart has been grabbed and twisted into severe knots of confusion and sadness.
And it kills.
It hurts.
So.
Bad.
So bad.
I know people go through this all the time. But no matter how mundane and prosaic a break-up may be it still hurts every time.
Every "My heart is telling me something different from what my mind is telling me"
Every "I love you but I'm not in love with you"
Every "I didn't mean to hurt you"
Every "This isn't working out."
No matter what those words never get easier to hear.
But forever is really never forever.
Because who we are is never forever.
We are constantly changing, growing, becoming who we are meant to be,
doing what we are supposed to do,
trying new things,
being.
Forever is never really forever.
We are changing all the time.
And that affects all the relationships we have-- romantic or not.
It's inevitable.
Maybe we just need to find someone that changes with us, and stays compatible with us as we change together.
Maybe.
But he and I were far from compatible.
And we grew in opposite directions, and changed into two very different people.
We love each other very much, but now it is time to move on.

So why, after I realize all these sorts of things, does it still hurt so bad?

Until next time,
C.R. Daniels