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It’s OK, it’s love

He asked, “What’s the one thing you’re most afraid of?”

“My mind,” I answered.

He said, “me too.”

Petrified, I asked, “mine or yours?”

“Yours,” he nonchalantly said, his eyes never leaving mine.

Before my heart could hit the floor, he shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and quickly added, “But that’s okay.”

I believed him.

No, not his words per se. It was his eyes… but also something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

There was just something about his eyes. At first I loved the fact that his eyes never lied. But every now and then he would lie to spare my feelings, or just lie as human nature. But his eyes, they would always betray him. In those moments, I wished he could be a better liar, if only to spare myself the pain of his truth.

And then it hid me.

“Your eyes,” I said. “They’re my favorite thing about you.”

He smiled and said, “I know.”

He sure did.

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A Villain in Distress

You’re like a storm begging to be a light shower on a sunny day
You picture yourself a haven for a lover’s bliss
Yet it’s so cold under your arms

You’re like a back up singer discontent with the darkness over his head
You fancy yourself a leading role
Yet you shiver under the spotlight

You’re like a little boy dressed in superman’s costume
You think yourself the damsel’s hero
But in your eyes it’s a villain she sees

She’s like the calm you feel before the storm
She carries herself like a butterfly
But there are spines under her wings

He, a villain in distress
And she, a damsel in armor

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The Alamond Affair

“I met the girl in Alamond, ” I explained to the sheriff , a short pot-bellied man who wore a perpetual frown on his face like he was mad at the world for allowing his mother to mate with his godforsaken father. I have known men to bond over such commonalities, but I was beyond rédemption when it came to this particular man. He was a necessary evil in my story. Had my mother been any wiser, she would have locked herself in the house and ovulated in peace thirty-two years ago. This catastrophe could have been avoided. Continue reading

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Being the unpopular 30-something year old

“It’s not as simple as that.” Or,

“Why does everything have to be so complicated with you? You think too much.”

I hear those words a lot. Mostly from men trying to pursue a steady relationship with me, or the rather unfortunate ones who try to engage me in some form of hurried feral exchange of fluids that’s likely to leave one of us deeply frustrated. So yeah, it definitely deserves to have the ensuing complicated conversation. Continue reading