In the last couple of weeks, the most intimate moment must have been Richard Patrick holding my hand while singing one of my favourite songs. I swear there was a spark.
Other sweet incidents involve invitations and WhatsApp messages from out of the blue. You would believe one has already forgotten about you, but in reality, you haunt their minds when they’re in bed staring at the dark.
I don’t like that.
I’d rather they thought about me when they party hard or fuck someone else when drunk.
That’s me fantasising about their dirty secrets.
After all, it’s not good to be spoilt or feel too good from having admirers. I personally don’t know how to respond to kindness; it’s like a series of loans or favours that I’ll have to return one day. This is the main reason why the ones you love back off when you give too much. You only give when you love. I mean, I get it now. What I don’t understand is why they spoil you only at the beginning when you’re most suspicious about their intentions. Is it the suspicion that turns them on and arouses them to give?
And once the honeymoon phase is over, they turn their back on you? So what is it women have to do, be cold throughout and keep all hopes low? Yes! But continue loving to the maximum and never tell. Not everyone deserves to know. Nobody needs to know that I’d do anything for you. You wouldn’t want someone that’d do anything for you, right?! – Right, me neither.
Sometimes I wish I was a man that looks like Tyson Ritter. (I have a thing for slender male legs, and I don’t know anyone who’s prettier than him right now. (Other than that, everyone born in 1984 is pretty.)
History was always yesterday. I’ve got no time to look back. No novel writing or reading in the last four weeks; I could kill myself, but I couldn’t blame anyone. They don’t know that I think about them when they least expect it. I wish they knew, so I don’t have to fucking do anything to prove it to them.
I’m already sorry for what I’m going do.