A trip back home

Let me explain the process:

You feel this insurmountable happiness in your heart.
You rest your eyes and smile with peace, knowing that they are waiting for you.
The flight, the walk through the terminals, the faces of the other passengers, you radiate euphoria.
And when you see them, your heart literally bursts into crackles of joy, upon joy, and joy.
And every minute is just comfortable, weightless, eternal
It’s just the feeling of home
It’s hugs that give you light
It’s conversations that leave you in head-shaking smirking aw
Affection for you as you are.

It’s, everything.
And that continues cozy and endless for two weeks, maybe three, if you’re lucky.

Then as if abruptly, as if all those days of heat and rest that were passing so slowly, suddenly end in a heartbeat. You fly back. Miles and miles away.
Catch a morning flight, thinking you need to land at a decent time. Get back to real life at a decent hour.
And as soon as you’re on that plane, you’re alone again. Exactly as you were before the trip. Well this time you have more baggage, you’re carrying an extra weight of loss. A mirage of happy days that never seemed to have occurred.

Back at your house, day after day, all you feel is empty.
Lost and trodden and shivering.
Going about your life, so far away from the warmth and ease.
Trying to rid yourself of the glow that softened your sharp edges.
Gradually you become numb, teaching your brain to accept the circumstance.
You try to cut down on the phone calls, distract yourself, do the things you never had time to do. Well you never do them. But you do build distance.
And you start to acclimate, creating a wall to hide the loss inside of you.

Until six months later, beneath the wall, you start to bleed pain. You need a trip back home again to stop the darkness. The wallowing loneliness. And then, the process starts anew.

Miss Mess

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You’re the one I talk about in all my stories

“Are you sure you’re in love with him?”

“Yes, I mean, I told him the other night, ‘I’m falling in love with you again’.”

“Hm, ok but..”

but maybe it wasn’t love.

that’s what she was trying to tell me. as kindly as she could. i was too caught up, confined in my self-created self-consuming drama of being or not being with him, i couldn’t tell that was what she meant. i thought i truly loved him. i believed i loved him. i felt it. my heart skipped, my lips smiled, my eyes twinkled, all at once, whenever he walked in. but then she explained the endorphins and the chemicals, and our bodies and human nature. i nodded, agreed with her, and thought how interesting, how many people must she have fallen in love with. completely disassociating myself– what i felt was different. honest. real. from the beginning continued till now.

and i felt heartbreak i truly did.

But she made me question it, and now I feel another break, pinch of reality, the possibility that my love for him was never complete; maybe just embers that were fueled nightly by our bodies.

Miss Mess


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My karma – the heart that keeps breaking

wow. those few words just broke my heart.

i was gathering the courage to ask you, to ask me out on a date this weekend. i wanted to dress up, look cute for you. i was making little plans to spend the day and night with you. i was trying to find the right words to tell you i want more. more of you, more calls, more sights, more cities, more experiences, with you.

and you just text me: “I decided to go to LA this weekend.”

that was it, in one blue bubble, i kept staring at it.

i know you have to protect your heart. i know i’m the one who broke up with you that first time. i’m the one who says i don’t wanna be with you in the long long term. i’m the one who teared, and shook and told you so.

but i just didn’t think you were waiting for the worst moment to make your mark. with a text and a drive far away.

Miss Mess


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As if my heart couldn’t break

Throughout our relationship, although I had my selfish moments, I stopped acting on what it was that I truthfully wanted. Who I wanted to be with. Where I wanted to go. What I wanted to do.

I was constantly worried about him – About yo-yo-ing him – About breaking his heart. About giving him a normal relationship. About saying one thing and doing another thing. About saying too much and explaining too much and never explaining enough.

Yet I never once thought: what if he broke my heart.

As if he wasn’t capable, as if my heart wasn’t able to break.

As if there was a positive correlation between the good guys, and my personal happiness. As if life was that simple.

Well let me remind you, my heart was beating to the shape of the thinnest glass, it had long been stretched at the seams. And one Thursday it so simply shattered. I turned my head, let his lips brush my cheek, and whispered, “I’ve met someone.” Trust me, I know how he felt, because my heart felt the tremors. And I scrambled to pick the pieces, cutting my fingers at the corners. Feeling the blood as it trickled scarlet.

Sure, he didn’t do it that time, it was me, it was precedence and it was my past. But once I pieced it together that first time, and once I went back to him, it happened again like the most ungodly punch into a mirror. This weekend it shuddered, pieces crashing down. The reverberations beating in my ear. A black hole clamping in its place. I stayed in bed for 24 hours, I couldn’t move, I laid there arms restless by my side, willing the pieces to mould, my mind begging them, tears streaming down my face, painfully, pushing the pieces together, back to where they had been, many years ago, first stitched into place.

Miss Mess


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I told my boyfriend I had met someone..

I didn’t think I would cry over him. I didn’t think my tears would fall across my face. Splatter and spread like my heart did. Not then, three weeks after the first time I said it and not now, one month after breaking up. But I did cry, every single night for the next four weeks.

It felt like I was giving up something that should be mine. Everything that would make me happy. Someone that was really half of who I was. I had dreams of him. Of conversations about our future. Of being so in tune. Him taking care of me for years to come.

To this day, long after that someone ghosted, I still dream of him.

Miss Mess,


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Isn’t it?

“So. She didn’t want to be with me. Isn’t it?”

“It’s not that she didn’t want to be with you. She was waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me? She was with someone after me. How could she wait for me? How could she come back to me?”

“It’s not like that for girls. She was waiting for you to be who she believed you are. She just got tired of waiting. She thought she could leave and she’d come back if you asked her. With little, big gestures, you know.”

“What’s a big little gesture. I wanna watch news reports and F1 highlights with my girl in bed. She wanted to change that? She wanted me to change for her? ”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t know, maybe. She was hoping you’d come back for her, and be everything she wanted. Ya, fine, maybe it is. Maybe she was hoping you’d  change for her.”

Miss Mess


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Is there an app for that?

Has anyone ever had one person in their life they loved but couldn’t be with because of traditional society, and at the same time had another person who was so perfect on paper but who was taking things so, slow.

Well I did, and I didn’t know what to do.
I wish I could have found out who would make me the happiest, who I would get along with for the next 50+ years. Who I could love the longest.

I wish there was an app for that.

I’ll tell you though, I ended up with neither of them.

Uncertainty is telling. Maybe the only data you need.

Editor’s note: I later read this article which confirmed it all – http://www.howtogettheguy.com/other/questions-ask-committing-long-term-relationship/

Miss Mess


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