I think i'm beyond feeling butterflies in my stomach now.
There was a time when i stayed up all night thinking about how i'd look wearing what i thought i would wear the next day because the guy working two floors above me might accidentally have lunch at the same cafeteria as me. Oh the butterflies!
Now, I just wonder if I should shave my legs for my Sunday night date. I'm wearing tights so i most likely won't. Why have the butterflies forsaken me? More Elizabeth Arden and less deodorant maybe.
When i was about 10, my idea of love was Kevin Arnold from the Wonder Years. And then i moved on to Maverick and Robin Hood and Hansie Cronje and Pat Rafter and Edward Scissorhands and Neo and Maximus and Batman and Iron man and Del Piero and the bald mummy man and you get the picture. My idea of love is so gravely distorted, i'm afraid i won't even know when it hits me for real.
Sure i cried into a pillow for nights when my first boyfriend left to work in the US. That we'd been seeing each other only for 2 months didn't deter me from dramatizing the heart break. I did hold on to him for four odd years and i don't quite know what i was waiting for. It was all there, right in front of me. YOU'RE NOT MEANT TO BE. Yes it was in capital and a much bigger font size. I think it came into focus only when he moved out of focus. He was a wonderful man. But when you're young and naive, you think every little act of wonderful from a man you're attracted to means they'll want to have babies with you. One baby actually, the other one would be adopted. With a cat and a dog. In a beach house. With white picket fences. And a gazebo. A rocking chair on the porch. And a fireplace inside. Oh yeah! It was that clear in my head. And i couldn't picture that with anyone else but him. Of course i moved on.
8 years and a few men later, i don't think i know what i want anymore. The fantasy evades me. The romance doesn't register. The butterflies don't flutter. They just mock me. There's nothing pretty here no more. She's gone. And so have the butterflies.
Now, there's a need to mend all things broken. A need to look for imperfection. A need to stay in the darkness. A need to be elusive. A need to look for an exit.
There was a time when i stayed up all night thinking about how i'd look wearing what i thought i would wear the next day because the guy working two floors above me might accidentally have lunch at the same cafeteria as me. Oh the butterflies!
Now, I just wonder if I should shave my legs for my Sunday night date. I'm wearing tights so i most likely won't. Why have the butterflies forsaken me? More Elizabeth Arden and less deodorant maybe.
When i was about 10, my idea of love was Kevin Arnold from the Wonder Years. And then i moved on to Maverick and Robin Hood and Hansie Cronje and Pat Rafter and Edward Scissorhands and Neo and Maximus and Batman and Iron man and Del Piero and the bald mummy man and you get the picture. My idea of love is so gravely distorted, i'm afraid i won't even know when it hits me for real.
Sure i cried into a pillow for nights when my first boyfriend left to work in the US. That we'd been seeing each other only for 2 months didn't deter me from dramatizing the heart break. I did hold on to him for four odd years and i don't quite know what i was waiting for. It was all there, right in front of me. YOU'RE NOT MEANT TO BE. Yes it was in capital and a much bigger font size. I think it came into focus only when he moved out of focus. He was a wonderful man. But when you're young and naive, you think every little act of wonderful from a man you're attracted to means they'll want to have babies with you. One baby actually, the other one would be adopted. With a cat and a dog. In a beach house. With white picket fences. And a gazebo. A rocking chair on the porch. And a fireplace inside. Oh yeah! It was that clear in my head. And i couldn't picture that with anyone else but him. Of course i moved on.
8 years and a few men later, i don't think i know what i want anymore. The fantasy evades me. The romance doesn't register. The butterflies don't flutter. They just mock me. There's nothing pretty here no more. She's gone. And so have the butterflies.
Now, there's a need to mend all things broken. A need to look for imperfection. A need to stay in the darkness. A need to be elusive. A need to look for an exit.
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