“Love breaks my bones, and I laugh.”

I am not a fully formed person yet and I expected her to fill the void. Maybe she is so pure of heart that I needed to be complete in myself to be with her? And knowing that I can never be complete maybe I was never meant to be with her. It is possible that she has played her role in my life and I in hers. And would that be so wrong? Did I not enjoy being in her space the last year? No matter what anyone says and no matter how badly it may end up, falling in love is still the best feeling in the world.

No. Waking up one day and realising you have fallen in love is better. Trying to understand your love for someone and failing miserably because it makes no sense except to your heart. And you’re in such euphoria you cannot talk to your heart, you have no interest in what it has to say, no desire to understand. The anticipation of seeing her in the morning in class and knowing that just the back of her head is enough to brighten the day. She says she doesn’t like romance and romantic language, but these words are the only thing I have. The rest is just raw emotion that I have failed to contain.

I want to tell her that I’ll wait for her. However long it takes. But I fear all she wants to do is build a wall around her.

And now I will have to see her and pretend I do not feel my heart breaking. I will have to smile at her and everyone and wonder how she doesn’t feel the same. At how wrong the poets were, because love is not contagious. It is a disease sure, but one you suffer through on your own. I will have to build my own wall up again.

And knowing what I know now, would I change anything? I would tell her much earlier that I loved her and get my heart broken sooner. So I may have another chance to fall in love with her all over again.


Heaven maybe…

“Heaven?  Heaven is watching her run into the water at the beach. Building the most ridiculous sand castles and playing dragons and princesses. Heaven is her feeding me her popcorn while we watch the sun set. Her complete and unconditional trust that I would get her home safely. Heaven is her taking my hand as we walk back to the car, being present in the moment and knowing that in this space and time I could never be happier.

Heaven is also the way he smiles when he sees me driving into the driveway. The barely controlled excitement of spending time with me that washes his face. Heaven is sitting across the table from him at breakfast and just watching him eat. Sitting up until 11 o’clock at night because we both want to maximise the time we have together. Heaven is the way we talk to each other without speaking and laugh without saying a word.  That is heaven.”

“Hell is the other thing.

Hell is when he asks with surprise and hurt in his voice if I’m leaving already. It’s the way he gets quiet when he sees his driveway and realises that I am going to leave him again. Hell, is that first hour on the road back when I know deep in my heart and with each kilometre I drive away that I am failing him.

Hell is also the drive out on that Sunday afternoon. Knowing that I need so much more time with her, time to learn her and for her to learn me. Hell is realising how much time I have thrown down the drain because of my useless, impotent pride. Hell is knowing that soon she will start asking if I am leaving already. And I will have no answer for her.”

Welcome back…

“I did it for the buzz. I did it for the pure joy of the thing. And if you can do it for joy, you can do it forever.” Stephen King


For a while I had lost the reason, the why of the thing. Life took over, as it does. With its tragedies, its triumphs, its banalities and its boring unoriginal drama. And somewhere in there the reason was lost. And with it the passion. I have been inspired again. And so I write one more time. And if I see her again (when I see her again!) I will write yet again. I hope to see her again so I can write again. And I hope to see her again just to see her again.

A guy I know once said to me, “Nature will provide.” And it has, in spades. I’ve been inspired again. My idea of the world challenged. And me with no answer. There’s this girl. (It’s always going to be a girl, when the world ends it will be over a girl). She’s a cliché. Young, beautiful, quick to smile, a joy to be around. A girl you want to kiss for the first time over and over. A beautiful cliché. And I’ve been inspired. Nature has provided.

The rock I call my view of the world has not so much been moved as shattered into a million pieces. And there was nothing I could do about it. Shit, I didn’t even know it was there! One look at her and I didn’t want to do anything about it. I was comfortable under my rock. It was mine and mine alone. And now that it’s gone I’m not quite sure what to do. That’s not quite true: I’m writing, and that’s something to do. And it feels good. Like that first time your hand brushed against hers. Or when you looked into her eyes and suddenly knew you were going to kiss her. Almost as if she was the one whispering to you nature will provide.


“I wish I’d kissed you last night when I wanted to.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

I’m excited by the possibility of a later as much as the prospect of the kiss. I’m excited to be writing again. It’s no better than it was when I stopped but I don’t really care (maybe just a little). I’m excited about writing about seeing her again.