When do break ups get easier? Why is it easier for men to forget but we women hold on to all the memories, the sweet banter exchanges, the romantic looks, the annoying habits, and so much more. I still have the parking ticket from the beach we went to 4 years ago while we were on our first away vacation. It was so nice so romantic.... Why does it hurt that someone you loved so much and thought you couldn't live without suddenly turns out to be someone so different. Was it another façade? Another fake love story made up in your head "fairy taled," Yes I am going through a break up or that's what I think it is. Love really is so over rated it is so fucked up. They don't make men like they used back in the day. The Cary Grant and Gone with the Wind love stories no longer exist. I pass by an old couple watch as they walk hand in hand and always wonder will I ever find that kind of love. Clearly it's not looking too hot. At 35 almost 36 I should stop dreaming. My therapist says I need to focus on myself. I need to first love myself. Self love she says. I went to talk to a therapist one day, first time ever in my life. Anyway, so I go to this therapist I take a seat in her dim lit office and she asks me to talk about myself. I hesitated how does one start off by talking about themselves!? I've always been very modest but as I started to share my achievements I felt proud of myself. I'm a fighter. I've gone through so much in life. But then she started to delve in more ..after that first appointment I never went back. I realized therapy isn't my thing, But she was right , I need to focus on self love. Self love I find that so ironic... so many reasons why we don't practice self love. Covid being one of the main culprits, who's always happy these days with all the death we are surrounded by. I am planning on taking a trip though after this virus. Some where hot, sunny, and pretty! Till next time xoxo
idden truths I try to bury it deep within the library of memories I keep filed away, in an effort to shield myself from the pain which gnaws at me time and time again, but I hopelessly fail. The need to look over my shoulder is crucial. One lost look and it will eat into the deep embers of my soul. When I am reminded an incomplete smile forms around the corners of my mouth before my face contorts and small drops of tears begin to fall down my downtrodden facade. I say downtrodden because the memories are as sweet as honey and yet bitter as a glass of lemonade on a hot summers day. Night Over head the rain drops form their own rhythm on the tin roof while outside in the courtyard the squishing of mud by the feet of rushed servants begins another. This song was the perfect lullaby, but my eyes would not give into temptation. The guests were outside scrambling for whatever shelter they could find from the splash of monsoon rains. I sat as upright as I possibly could but it was get
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