Trust:........ it takes years to build it, a moment to break and forever to earn it again. Forever is made up of little days. Every day spent earning that trust, giving the other's heart reasons not to break. Trust is love - and yes, love is earned.
Hmmm... thought process.
Can I let her in? Maybe the problem is not with her at all - maybe I'm not sure what I'd be letting her into. No one's ever come as close as she has before so I've never had to be that open or honest before. When the mouth of the liar opens to tell the truth, nothing comes out but sand. Maybe, I'm just scared. Scared because I'm happy - it's all good. But I do trust her, so much it's scary. I've just got issues with myself. But I'm trying... she doesn't realise I'm trying. Babysteps, babysteps... but all she wants are marathon sprints. All she values are the marathon sprints. The orgasms, the declarations of love and complete submission, the fainting spells, the drama, the heartache and depression, the need for cigarettes and drinks, the passion, the heat, the "i can't live without you", the love, the need, the ache, the pain and ecstacy, the madness, the rashness, the romeo and juliet moves.
Our past relationships were built on my drama/passion/love. They were full of her holding back and playing games to avoid facing whatever it was she really felt, and they were all about me trying to feel every emotion and be poetic about it, and love her until I died of agony. (That wasn't really sustainable.) I used to think I was so profound, but now I know I was just hiding: scared, like her, that I really did love her - not in a Hollywood way, but in a far more real sense that cuts out all the bullshit and throbs with a dull pain. Love that was not shiny and ready for television. A love that could stand her at 6 in the morning, all gross looking, a love that was bloody and messy and built on an actual dependency: far less pure. A love that made me feel comfortable with her, just chilling. A love that could stand her when she was 50, even though she bugged the hell out of me sometimes. I really wanted it to be more glamourous than it was... but it wasn't. I loved her the way you grow to love your house that you've been living in and creating for years. The day you have to leave it is the day you'll sit alone in every room, crying and saying goodbye; knowing all the while that no one else will love this house the way you do, or will think it as beautiful - because they don't know it like you do. Sure, other people will go "what's all the fuss about?" when they hear what you're crying over... and that's when you realise in yourself that yu are the only person who will ever love like this. And that's scary as hell because there's no prototype, no hollwood passion... It's love that is deeper than any stupid sonnet etc... it is so unique, and the world will never know it again. Yeah, my point is, I was scared of how much I loved her... but this time I decided not to be: and to just love her, love her, love her anyway, in this fucked up fashion I have, and fuck the consequences.
So I'm sorry if it doesn't look like I fully trust her, it's all too new so I don't express it well, but I do, more than before (the very first time 2 years ago). I'm sorry if there aren't fireworks exploding form me, if I'm boring, unreadable, holding back, avoiding the orgasm, not taking her there, whatever. Maybe I am readable, but she just doesn't want to accept the fact that I do really love her, and there's nothing else ticking in my head except how I'm going to show her - finally be honest and love her, not by saying it 24/7, but by doing it. Coming out where possible, being calm and knowing that I don't need to search for fireworks or magic- I got them already. And I'm not making the crux of this relationship a future event like an orgasm etc. I'm letting it happen, enjoying the moment.... because if I wait for tomorrow for happiness and SATISFACTION, I'll miss the point that satisfaction is now. Satisfaction is here. And this moment can't be better, it's already perfect.
Maybe there are problems because we think there should be. But why can't I just be happy? Why this fixation on something not being right? I don't want to look back and be like "damn girl! you had it all, what the fuck were you complaining about? you ruined it."
Fuck it - I know not what I was trying to say, just was really upset that's all. Disregard this entry.