I always strive to feel balanced because asking for happiness seems like a trap. I have to keep the protection up, just like getting my nails done once a fortnight, if they aren’t covered in five layers of powder and gel they’ll be weak and brittle.
And when he left, he blended in with the rest. And I changed my sheets and cried in the shower, while trying to scrub off what was left of our friendship.
“One day a light bulb went off in my head (or possibly my nether regions) wasn’t I also deriving pleasure from this type of foreplay and sex? Weren’t my orgasms suddenly and brilliantly intensified and genuine?”
I’m not sure if the love I always dreamt of was ever present in any of the relationships I’ve had in my lifetime.
I’ll never forget this moment. This moment I realised that after three years, it was over for real. That this time you won’t come back, and that I will have to live without you for the rest of my life.
I start to think of how I have never let myself actually notice my growth but instead, kind of skipped from point a to point b, closed my eyes for a second and opened them to see a new woman with the same smile staring back at me in the mirror.
I’m no longer scared of being who I am or liking who I like. I shout it from the rooftops every chance that I get.
When I was a little girl I wanted to be the princess who was chased with a fancy […]
So, I am curious: when does one become a “slut”?
I love him and everything is great. I feel safe like everything I have ever worried about no longer matters and every fear I have in life can never touch me. But I don’t want to marry him.