I couldn’t listen to someone else’s story about the time you once loved. How you flew to Denmark for a domain name, well for a girl you had liked on some trip somewhere, and she owned the website that you needed. I knew the website. You owned it now. I reviewed it, gave you notes and product feedback. It was a good site, damn good name. I never knew there was a girl though. I didn’t know the full story, and I couldn’t listen to it once it was being told. I silently took a deep breath, tried to detach myself in order to hear what was being said. Your best friend Bev, was telling me the story. Why was she even telling me this story? I smiled, smirked, raised an eyebrow at the right moments. Laughed because we all knew how outrageous you are sometimes.

It was a strangely tough experience. I was with him, but stories like this, and friends like her, made me feel like he was not with me. I couldn’t bear to imagine living in a world where I reminisced about him, without him. Where people would tell me things about him, and I had to just, hear it. Where he would live and I would live, but separate and apart and not together. That made me hold on tighter, rightly or wrongly. I remember that night, how insecure I felt, I went back and clung to you in bed.

Miss Mess


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Never us against the world

Nothing could save us.

Telephone calls, good mornings texts, multiple sunshine emojis, look into his eyes, back to back late night runs.

We built too much distance between us. After so many nights away, so many conversations retained, Work trips, My trips. Both on planes and in my headspace. We were living real, serious, separate lives. We lost the fairytale hopes in our future. Slowly, distance by distance, we built walls between us, in front of our hearts, mine is taller than yours, real empty spaces. Like the ocean covered with plastic. Still and suffocated. We didn’t know how to help each other, how to take away the pressure, how to be there, how to breathe together. We forgot everything that used to come so naturally.

It felt stupid talking about it. It felt obvious and draining. Felt broken – like we deserved it.

Miss Mess


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Fridays was boys only 🚫

Is there something I’m doing wrong? Is there something I should be doing differently? For the life me I can’t understand why you don’t try to plan to see me on Fridays. Why not tell me to join you in whatever you decide to do. Instead you boldly joked that Friday’s are boys night. And I’m here thinking, since the Sunday I left you, that all I want is to see you on Friday and Saturday and again on Sunday. Every day of the week really. It was that fucking simple for me. How upsetting that it wasn’t for you.

And who wants to make you feel it? Or have to remind you to want it? Who wants crumbs of attention pieced together sometimes 3 drinks in, on a boys night, sometimes present on date night?

How painful that was. Wanting closeness and intimacy with the guy you are feeling all these feelings for, and he straight up wants to avoid it. Avoid you. Picks a day to screen you. Tells it to your face too.

The wrong love is, shit, I tell you.

Miss Mess


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In my love story

Notes from January 2018 onward…

I was so lonely.

Especially if I was home alone, I would cry at various times. At night especially. I cried every night. I resisted messaging him at nighttime a while ago. I don’t know how long ago, but I got the habit to stick. Time with him has been so warped, a year and half is an undeniably long time, but with regards to our souls, it felt like I’d known him for centuries. Except recently he felt like this different person. Every week I would start feeling the distance. It happened to me with A. But this felt different, this felt like it was all in my head, our distance was in my head. Sometimes because I felt weak, and sometimes because I was the one who insisted we needed to stop, and often because it felt like the wrong time to talk since he had so much going on on his plate. Regardless it was hard.

I joined a few dating apps. The League, Bumble, Tinder. I would listen to girlfriends’ stories of fun dates, successful matches, pages of conversations. Trying to be strategic I would ask “which one do you think is the best”? Logically I knew I had to put myself in situations where I could meet someone. To open myself up. It didn’t matter what I used. But I wasn’t ready to meet anyone. I wasn’t interested to feel something for someone else. I concluded because I wasn’t on the right app it wasn’t working for me. The effort to leave the house for multiple dates, to make small talk, knowing I would find the smallest fault, would clog my throat; it seemed so taxing, stressful, below me. One day pretending I was helping myself, I was being independent and taking steps, I logged in. I made a better profile, made sure my pictures were cute. I couldn’t write an about me though. God I had trouble talking about myself to friends let alone thinking of what 500 words could explain why someone should date me. Sometimes I thought I should write something honest like: “looking for marriage and babies” or “basic bitch with blonde hair” or “newly single, extremely fragile”. Then I would imagine him reading it, and I would die inside. Of all the things to care about, I imagined he would read it. I would swipe through all the pictures, I would often open the app, swipe left on 20-30 guys. Then in a fit of anger, or tears, depending on the night, click my phone shut and throw it to the side.

I didn’t want to meet someone online. It felt so unnatural, so meaningless but also so final. I just didn’t want to meet anyone. I often wanted to ask him if it was okay if I started dating. Or I thought of telling him that I was going to start using dating apps. I definitely wanted permission from him, I wanted him to give me the okay, or really fight with me over it, in some ways I inevitably wanted him to let me go.

He needs to let me go. You need to let me go. You can’t keep reeling me in like this and then not have time for me.

(May 1,  2018: inspired by Love Story, Indila.)

Miss Mess,


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If you lose, I haven’t won

He was an incredibly smart person. Thorough, quick, logical. Anything he did, his mind was two steps ahead but still expansive enough to sufficiently consider his bases.

But when it came to the ins and outs of our relationship he was steps behind. It was disheartening, he couldn’t see the practicality of what he was doing with me. Loving me within his boundaries.

Maybe he didn’t want to think about it because he was worried if he did, and he still didn’t know how to fix us, that would mean he had lost.

I thought I needed to stay around, as he took some distance, let him figure things out. As if there was one puzzle piece lost amongst a handful of others, and he would eventually find it. He would fit us back in. He would not lose this.

But there was no piece lost, it was always missing. We alluded to it’s lack of existence, we just couldn’t admit it had never been there.

Miss Mess

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2017, a year in review

Some people are so attached to their significant other that they are nothing without them, that they feel like they are nothing without them. I never learnt that, never experienced it. I am nothing with someone. I have never known the feeling of being someone more. I am always just, on my own.

Well, then I met him in San Francisco. I was everything and more with him. He made me be more. Better, kinder, smarter. Quick to talk and feel and want everything and anything beyond my reach.

Miss Mess


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A short story about separation

[from A’s memory]: She looked me in the eye and told me how much my words hurt her, how my actions and lack of effort effectively left her feeling unwanted. That our time spent together, she could only cringe when remembering: what we did, what we didn’t, how I seemed impassive. I watched a single tear roll down her cheek and I felt the cold blow of reality hit me across the face.

I wasn’t completely oblivious, despite what I portrayed, my carefree mannerisms. Under the surface our problems had been on my mind for some time; but right then, hearing her say them out loud, and seeing her so beautiful and vulnerable in front of me, I felt so unreservedly ashamed.

For a while now, I had realised my mistakes, I had wished I had acted differently, but bad habits and male ego are something so thickly etched within our personalities that they are impossible to get away from. Until we finally look up and see the result of our actions piercing our heart with honest words. Until it was too late.

I tried to reach for her soft hands, but she moved them off the table, away from me. I searched her face to answer her confusion as to how we had gotten to this endlessly distant place. I found it hard to express myself but attempted to, I tried to formulate my sentences. Opened my mouth to start, closed it. I wanted to tell her she had been continuously on my mind, wanted to tell her I’m sorry for the way I had made her feel. I needed to make it all better, I needed to make her feel better. She put her finger to my lips. I closed my mouth, my words unformed; I slumped back into my chair. She was oblivious to the spark that ran down my body, as her touch brought back all the memories. She shook her head, I saw the lump in her throat. I lost all my words.

In that moment, I saw the full extent of her pain; her closed heart as she looked listlessly into my eyes, said a resigning ‘oh well’ without ever speaking the words. She stood up to leave. I couldn’t concentrate, she was saying her goodbyes, I racked my brain to understand how we had gotten here, how such friendship and longing for one another had ended so abruptly; how I was suddenly so immobile, so lost for words, for action. I wanted to tell her how I felt, to pull her into me, to stop her from walking away. But she wouldn’t give me the chance. Somehow she was slowly disappearing into the crowd.

[from my memory]: I walked away from him. Each step was the hardest I had ever taken in my life. My feet felt heavy and my legs shaking as the finality of the situation consumed me. Head down I moved through the crowd, everyone was a blur. With every breath I took, my tears collected in a pool in my eyes. I tried to stare at the exit so I didn’t crumble and turn around, beg him to want me, to hold me, to make everything okay again. My confidence shattered, my throat raw from last night’s shouting. I was both physically and emotionally seconds away from crashing to the floor.

Despite expecting too much from him, I could not believe the nerve of him to just watch, to not make me listen to his reasoning. Even if it was me who had silenced him, he stayed impassive, still, like his usual self, wall-like, ignorant.

However hard it was to see any glimmer of good in my current state, I knew I had done the right thing. Love or not, nothing should be this painful. Being the bigger person is never easy; spilling your heart out is even harder; worse yet being met with immature silence. But seeing it in this light, admitting the reality of his personality, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I knew it was time to move on, and I was happy it was done. I could now start the healing process, and stop blaming myself for things not working out. His reserve was terribly heart-breaking; his ability to remain seated and not stop me walking away was beyond accepted norms. That was the final harsh slap I needed to be able to step out. That is who he was and not what I wanted.

That’s what he never realised.

Miss Mess


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