blank.

untitled: I.

Sophia Mihailidis — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 07:11:03 +0000

Those fucking green eyes.

They’re the kind of eyes that are like a pool of water, you can see your reflection in them. So whenever I look at him, I look straight back at myself. It doesn’t help that he was always staring at me, keeping those eyes fixated on me. I hate it when he does that. I feel like he’s trying to read me, trying to figure me out. And then he smiles, a smile so big it lights up the room. I hate it when he smiles at me. Why do I deserve a smile like that ?

So we lay there, side by side, with our fingers intertwined. I lay on my back, gazing at the ceiling, while he of course kept a heavy hold on me. I tried so hard to avoid his gaze. It was nearly impossible. You know that feeling, when someone is just staring at you and you want to turn around so badly and stare back, so badly it’s almost like an itch ? Yeah, that.

I snapped. “What.” Not even a question, more of a statement.

He grinned slightly. His grin. Fuck.

“What, ‘what’ ?”

“Why are you staring at me. I hate it when you do that. You never give me an answer.”

He continued to study me. His eyes moved up and down, side to side, darting back and forth as he took me in. And then he smiled his grand smile, and looked me dead in the eyes, and said exactly what I knew he was going to say. “Nothing.”

By this stage I was getting frustrated. “I never get a straight answer out of you,” I retorted, busily snatching my hand away from his.

His eyes grew, his eyelashes framing them, darkening them, complimenting them. “What do you want me to say ?” he asked, almost puzzled, as if we didn’t have this argument every other week. I felt his grip on my hand grow stronger as I tugged it away, and his fingers wrapped around mine and it was impossible to escape and I still wrestled with his hand, bending my fingers back and forth, attempting to push his away harshly.

“Anything. Fucking hell. Anything other than ‘nothing’”, I replied bluntly. “I know there’s a reason. I just don’t understand.”

By this point, my other hand had gripped his wrist and was trying to pull it away from my hand; as he, almost mindlessly, slowly but surely beat me into submission and I hopelessly gave up the fight. He knew he had me, in any and every way one could possibly have someone. He’d caught me like a fish caught on bait. He’d caught me so effortlessly, he had left me breathless in a matter of a simple smile. A smile anyone could give someone. A smile a stranger offers on the street. A smile, nothing but parting of the lips to curl up and bare clenched teeth, contorting muscles within the cheeks to level cheekbones and widen the face. Absolutely, positively nothing. And he’d caught me.

It annoyed me that the battle was so easily won by him. It annoyed me that he always won, just because of the way he looked at me and slightly skewed his head to the side, grinning as if he could taste victory. And those fucking green eyes squinted so much that you could barely see them, you could no longer see the light dancing around in his pupils.

Sighing, he reconnected his fingers with mine. The force of his touch sent jolts down the side of my ribcage, as if I’d been mildly electrocuted – just enough to remind me that I was alive, in that place and moment, I was feeling this…this energy, this overwhelming aura that surrounded his very being. He intertwined our fingers, each finger meeting its partner. He lightly swept his thumb over mine, caressing my hands. He had a habit of making every second intimate. He could breathe, and I’d want to kiss him. There was just something so peaceful, so assuring about his presence; as if the weight of the world had been shifted, and everything was floating around us, and time had stopped and all the clocks in the world had just magically stopped, and nobody was moving except us. With a single touch, a single caress, he could do that.

There was absolute silence but the very soft breaths between us. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He was still looking at me, dead in the eyes. It unnerved me a bit. Just to think that this remarkable creature was laying next to me, looking at me, trying to read me. What made me special ? What even made him special ? Who knew.

There was never awkwardness between us, not during silence or anything. We were just so comfortable that we could do just about anything and not think anything of it. Never tension or a single uncomfortable moment, just simple understanding. It was a strange feeling, a feeling unlike any other I’d ever felt with any person before. I could sit in silence with him for an entire day and not feel the urge to break it, I wouldn’t have to fidget, I wouldn’t get restless or frustrated. I could just sit there and just – be.

Finally, he answered my question. Two words, that I never expected I’d hear from someone and actually believe every word. Two words that I never thought I’d hear someone say as they’re looking me dead in the eyes, with no room for deceit, and he just said them, as if they were rolling off the tip of his tongue, as if we were speaking about the weather.

“You’re beautiful.”

I don’t think that he understood the magnitude of what he’d just said to me. The message he was conveying to me, was the one reason I had never thought of myself. Sure, guys had said the same thing to me before. It was all just words. Now, hearing it with substance and raw emotion backing it, made me feel as though I could taste the sky on my lips, I was flying so high above the ground, and yet, I hadn’t elevated anywhere from his side. I didn’t know what else to do.

So I kissed him.

I grabbed him roughly by the neck and I kissed him.

I kissed him with such a burning passion, it was almost furious. I felt petty for attempting to pick an argument, and to get that as my answer was somewhat a slap in the face. But I wanted to be slapped some more. To know that this glorious being was beside me, and he was looking into my eyes, and he was calling me beautiful, and he was being kissed by me, well – it’s a feeling so amazing, it’s indescribable.

I kissed him so hard I think the neighbours felt it upon their lips. Our noses squished together as he softly buried his hands into my hair, pushing me further into him. Our mouths clashed harder. Our lips were firmly pressed against each others. I could feel him breathing on my upper lip, I could feel his stubble gingerly graze my chin. I wanted to consume him whole, I wanted him to take me in, I wanted to stay there forever and ever just holding him tightly, squeezing every ounce of him, never allowing our lips to part. I was inhaling his scent, the scent of him that so many times I could smell on my pillow, on my clothes, in my hair, all over me. My hands drifted down his arms, his neck, his chest.

We slowly parted lips. We lay there, breathing in time with each other, looking at one another from a mere centimetre away. Grazing my nose with his, he smiled at me again. And this time, I smiled back.

And it was at that moment, when I looked into those big green eyes, I looked at my reflection and I thought – I am so fucking in love with you.

five thoughts.

Sophia Mihailidis — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 06:09:08 +0000

I’m sitting here doing nothing in particular, and I’m sorting through my thoughts, somewhat filtering them out and categorizing them. I’ve fit them into five categories.

1. Family.
As much as I can resent my family, I cannot pick and choose who I am related to. Therefore, I can only honour and cherish them despite how they may treat me in return. This is mainly towards my younger brother. Sometimes, I don’t feel like he understands how much I have sacrificed for him. I have put my pride aside for him, just so we could establish a better relationship as siblings, and I feel as though I’m getting nothing in return – I’m not asking for a massive act of gratitude, but I wish he’d recognize the things I’ve done and the things I’ve set aside for him. I feel as though he’s limited in what he can say and the way he can act, especially because of the environment he’s currently stuck in, and it’s disabling him to grow as a person. I think that’s where our main issue, as siblings and as friends, lies. I really want to help him, but I’m unsure as to how to achieve that. I’ll work it out.

2. Friends.
I’ve lost countless friends over the past year. Not because of any real reason, just because I’ve blocked myself off from the world and honestly, it’s been the best damn move I’ve made for myself in such a long time. I’ve lost contact with so many people – some I intentionally distanced myself from, and some because we just grew apart. I’ve come back in contact with a few people from my past as well and it’s interesting to see how people evolve from childish teenagers to mature adults, and how they grow on their own. I now have a very limited amount of friends and a very, very limited social circle and honestly it’s exactly how I like it. No more drama.

3. The past.
I’ve come to grips with the fact that I am not my past anymore. Sure, certain aspects and lessons have moulded me into who I am today, but they do NOT make or break me. Dwelling on the past has only brought me pain, drama, headaches and heartaches and I’m not prepared to deal with that any longer. I’m not saying I’m throwing away the past because that’s impossible, and I’d never part with my memories just so I could have a clean slate. I know I’ve done some awful things in the past and I’ve made some bad decisions, I’ve been close minded and negative and I haven’t been willing to give anything in my life a chance. But now, now I’m a different person. Perhaps I’ve seen the light in some scenarios that has allowed my mind to develop further, or maybe I’ve just grown up, but I’ve cut ties with the person I have been and I’m going to focus on the person I will be.

4. The future.
Go to school, get a job, make money, die. That’s not what my life is about. Call me old fashioned, but I want to build my life around a family, around children and around giving everything I have for unconditional love. I’d love to travel, I’d love to learn new things and experience something extraordinary, but if it doesn’t happen for me then that’s not how my life is set out. I’d love to stay home and cook an exquisite dinner for my family. I’d love to read my child a bedtime story and tuck them in. I look forward to going and buying a kitten or a puppy to add to my household, I look forward to designing the interior of my home, I look forward to sitting back and saying this is all mine – and it can’t be taken away from me. Ideally, that’s my life. I KNOW I have to go to school and get a job, I’m hounded about that every day. But that’s not my main goal, that’s not what I’m looking for.

5. Love.
A necessity in my life. I thrive off love now, as much as I used to repel it then. I’ve realized the importance of it – not just romantically, but in every sense. The sense of the unconditional love of family. The sense of the unbreakable bonds of friendship. The sense of compassion for every living being, some people’s being stronger than others. I’ve been told numerous times that my heart is too big and my kindness gets mistaken for weakness, leading to people using me. I guess that’s just me though, and I can’t change that. I love widely. I try my very best to hide it, but it always seems to shine through in the end. When I love someone, I love them with my whole heart, no matter who they may be. And when I’m involved with someone, be it romantic or platonic, I do my best to put them before myself and focus on satisfying their needs before my own. I’ll always pour the other person a glass of water before I pour one for myself. Now, having such a small handful of friends, having realized the importance of family, and being in such a passionate and mature relationship, I’m starting to open my eyes to who I really am and how big my heart truly is.

Maybe I’m growing as a person, maybe I’m finally accepting the things that I always tried to reject in the past, everything people would always tell me or things that were just right under my nose but I refused to look down. Maybe, maybe, this is just me growing up.

back to work.

Sophia Mihailidis — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 17:35:35 +0000

I need to stop letting my mind wander. It’s like a dog off a leash – left for too long, it could venture into an unknown space, a forbidden place, and be trapped forever. It’s a dangerous, dangerous thing. When left to my own devices, I’m almost certain to become withdrawn from reality and sucked into a vortex and thrown back into the little inner workings of my imagination. Lately the wheels and cogs and bolts and clinking and clanging and whistling and moving and shuffling and bustling inside have been silenced. Everything is dead. I cannot work out whether that is an indication of a life better lived, perhaps I have found solace within myself and my surroundings that I no longer need to retreat to my “secret garden” – or maybe I’ve killed it. Maybe I’ve poisoned it with normality. Maybe I haven’t paid enough attention. Maybe I have been lying to everyone, lying to myself when I’ve fronted up with a smile and a glistening eye and spoken with my tone steady. I never meant to let the real me die, I never meant to let the fire fizzle out inside me.

I am making a vow, to continue writing and to oil what needs to be oiled in that tiny factory of mine. I vow to rebuild my invisible sanctuary and to rework my tiresome imagination. I vow to cut normality at the knees – because I may be a lot of things, but the one thing I will never be is ordinary.

a not so “new” new year.

Sophia Mihailidis — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 16:25:58 +0000

It’s been so long since I last posted that I was contemplating creating a new blog and leaving this one behind – perhaps a fresh new start was in order to cure my writer’s block. But then I realized that if life is like a book, then books have chapters, and at the start of every new chapter a new book isn’t written, is it ? So in spite of not wanting to cloud myself with the old suppressed memories and feelings carried on within previous posts, I’ll continue.

Lately, everyone has been overly enthusiastic about the new year. I see the same song and dance every single year. Everyone reflects on the past year, reminiscing on the good times and condemning the bad, and swears that next year will be different. Next year, they’ll make the most of every day. Next year, they’ll achieve the things they didn’t in the previous year. Next year, they’ll prosper and fly, and nothing bad will touch them because it’s a glorious, fresh new year and only the best is yet to come. Next year, next year, next year. Every single year.

I don’t really believe in the whole “new year” concept – to me, it’s just another year, another number, another twelve months. I don’t believe in the hype of hope that new years bring. I believe in people, not times. A number or a date isn’t going to determine your life. You don’t know what year you’ll succeed, fail, laugh, cry, fall in love, have your heart broken, learn a lesson, lose a friend, gain a friend, die. It’s not relative to years. It’s relative to you – it’s all in your own time.

My personal belief is that it’s never a time, it’s a person. There’s never a time that you’ll just wake up and be “ready” for something. It’s an epiphany, it’s an experience, it’s a strength within you that alerts you that your lesson has been learned, and it’s time to use it. There’s never a good time for anything. There will be a person to teach you to be weary of the ones you trust – because you will be backstabbed, spoken wrongly about, double crossed, and whatnot. There will be a person to teach you the true meaning of real unadulterated love, that giving is never as easy as receiving but it’s twice as rewarding. There will be a person to teach you patience, gratitude, attentiveness, empathy, consideration, compassion, generosity, loyalty, devotion and faith; there will be people to teach you envy, greed, selfishness, impoliteness, apathy, negligence, hostility, anxiety, lust, bitterness and grief. There will be people to teach you how hard you can fall, and there will be people to teach you how much stronger you’ll be when you wake up. There will be people throughout your whole life, and they won’t just appear on one particular night.

I’m all for the reminiscent energy of new years – by all means, there’s nothing wrong with looking over prior events from the past year, be them good or bad, and realizing the benefit of the lessons gained. However, I don’t believe in sitting there saying “This year is going to be different, this year is going to be good.” You cannot determine the outcome of the year judging by the date, and every year saying the same thing will not make a difference. I suppose that for most people new years comes once a year and it’s a fresh new start, but if new years symbolized new beginnings and new starts, then I get new years whenever it comes around in its different forms. If new years is about new life, then I get new years more often than the average person.

stop denying.

Sophia Mihailidis — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 13:48:50 +0000

If there’s a prize for rotten judgment
I guess I’ve already won that
No man is worth the aggravation
It’s ancient history, been there, done that
Who’d you think you’re kidding ?
He’s the earth and heaven to you
Try to keep it hidden
Honey we can see right through you
Girl you can’t conceal it
We know how you feel and who you’re thinking of
No chance, no way, I won’t say it
You swoon, you sigh, why deny it ?
It’s too cliche, I won’t say I’m in love.

For quite some time, I’m been trying to hide it. It’s been a lot longer than anyone knows – than I’m willing to admit. But this attraction has grown into some sort of a force field and instead of acting around us, it’s acting between us. I don’t want to keep things concealed any longer, but what other choice do we have ? I feel as if we’re playing with fire but it’s too damn irresistible. People say I’m addicted to the trouble and the endless drama this situation has caused, and they say that I’m blinded by sheer lust and attraction. But honestly, I feel like you have something I’ve never found before. Honesty, trust, commitment, passion, communication, faith, respect, spark. You might be that something that I’ve been looking for but never admitted to. My unknown addiction that I’ve finally come to terms with. Maybe the reason I was so ignorant and dismissive of relationships beforehand was because you were waiting there the whole time, I just never knew it. Well, now I know it, and now I’d like to push all this shit aside and get on with whatever good thing we’re doing.

I’m not sure what it is, because honestly, you piss me off to no end. You are cocky, you are arrogant, you are stubborn, you can be immature, you can be unreasonable, you can be irritating, you can be so fucking frustrating that I literally just want to hook you in the face. And I know I’m difficult to tolerate, I’m just as stubborn, I can be just as arrogant, I can be cruel, I can be a tease, I can be extremely annoying, I am most definitely sarcastic and I come off as a real bitch to you and you don’t know how to react. So for you to put up with me, and me to put up with you – that’s gold.

lighting the match.

Sophia Mihailidis — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 10:36:05 +0000

When you set a flame to a small scrap of paper, it will burn out quickly. There isn’t enough material to sustain it, and therefore the fire will die out and only a minimal amount of ashes will remain. However, when you set a flame to a log of wood, it burns slowly, emitting a dark cloud of smoke and a comforting warmth. You can smell the embers from a mile away and when it finally dies out, there is reasonable evidence of its existence in this world – much like a fingerprint, or a dint in a wall. You know it has been there, and you can sweep away the ashes, but the smoke and aroma linger on until they too ascend into the heavens.

The same concept goes with relationships. Picture yourself as a flame. How many people could you say have been the scrap of paper, some bigger and more significant than others, but nevertheless burning out quicker and more disappointingly than you’d hoped. They didn’t offer a comforting warmth with their touch, and didn’t leave you breathless and amazed like the bright flickering flames. They just fizzled away, quickly and quietly, and left you with a pile of ashes. Sometimes we think that touching the flame might make us feel something, perhaps more alive, more alert and more in touch with the fire, but all it leaves us with is a nasty burn and a scar to remember our mistakes. A true fire, a fire that burns with passion and ferociousness, needs no assistance; it will continue to burn until the last spare inch of flammable material has become charcoal.

In hindsight, I’ve had my fair share of disappointments and dead ends, which I sometimes refer to as “wastes of time”. Sometimes the scrap of paper was just too small to set alight, sometimes the flame was too weak on my behalf and it just kept extinguishing. I’ve had what I thought were great enough to set an entire forest on fire – strong, vicious, blazing fires that not even the ocean could stand up against – which, to my dismay, never set anything alight and went along destroying everything in its path when it didn’t get its way. I’ve never had a true, real fire. One that’s been properly matched on both ends of the lighting and the burning. Contrary to popular belief, a fire needs another part to make it light and the same is with a relationship – it’s a two way street; effort, commitment, passion, mystery, all aspects that need attending to on both behalves. I think people expect too much from the other side and too little from theirs. After all, they’re the ones that have to light the match. But what’s the point in lighting a match if you’re going to throw it into the sand ?

façade.

Sophia Mihailidis — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 15:13:57 +0000

façade (fəˈsɑːd)

— n
1. the face of a building, esp the main front
2. a front or outer appearance, esp a deceptive one

People are constantly telling me things, things that I can’t retain in my mind. Things like how to control my emotions, how to stop the shaking, how to loosen my tongue. In the midst of the feverishly compassionate concern, I don’t think they realize my eyes are slowly glazing over and the inside of my cheek is being viciously gnawed at by my teeth, shifting my dimples across my face. They don’t realize, among all the words being thrown around like beach balls in the sun, that my expression has gone completely blank and my brain is numb. I don’t care. And while I am so thankful to these people for caring that sheer gratitude simply isn’t enough, I can’t do what they’re asking me to do. If it were that simple, the job would be done and this chapter would have been closed by now.

So I learned another trick – put on a front. It’s human nature that, when you see someone in need, you want to help them. For some it’s a smaller portion of their subconscious, for others, every part of their being urges them towards the cause. Whatever the case, we all want to help. That’s my downfall. I don’t want help for anyone unqualified and without a prescription for medication. I believe that whatever it is that’s happening to me is bad enough for me inside my head, so there’s absolutely no need to unleash it into the already tainted world. If my thoughts worry me, they would petrify others, and there would be no real point in doing so. When people could see that I was visibly bothered by something, they would instantly becoming interested and the questions would start pouring in to the point where I had so many words down my throat, I couldn’t even manage an “I’m fine”. I changed my façade.

I became the master of disguise within myself, shielding my external being from the hustle and bustle within my head. I created a shield. And while my head and my heart were screaming, my mouth was smiling and my eyes were singing. I appeared happy. Some refer to this as “bottling things up”. I’ll admit, I’m a bottler and I always have been. I am fully aware that my façade is already cracking and people are starting to see a bit of the truth laying within. With every crack falls a piece and I try so desperately to mend it, to salvage what is left. I’m afraid that it’s going to keep cracking and soon enough fall apart, exposing me. It’s a ticking time bomb that I just won’t meddle with.

actions vs words.

Sophia Mihailidis — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 04:16:04 +0000

Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. Saying it and doing it are two different things. Actions speak louder than words. Words really are becoming powerless and useless, aren’t they ?

It’s close to impossible to find someone that you can simply sit down and have a conversation with. Have them absorb your every word, and then say their piece. Nobody listens anymore. You could be furious with a person, but doing the mature thing and sitting them down to talk won’t achieve anything – they’re more likely to react if you give them the silent treatment or throw them a dirty look here and there. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about people, it’s that they say one thing and mean another; they never really listen.

Everyone has been telling me lately to confront my latest “problem” head on, and just talk about it. But there’s no point in talking, because nothing is ever achieved. Nothing ever changes. Actions really do speak louder than words and it’s frustrating. What happened to the days when we could just sit down and tell each other what was on our minds ? Instead, we take the immature approach and throw the cold shoulder. We back off when we should be moving forward, and by doing that you’re taking about five steps back. I miss being able to talk about things that were bothering me, I miss not being ignored, and I miss not having to ignore people to prove a point. Nobody is willing to listen anymore, and it’s a bit depressing. Nobody knows how to communicate anymore.

Then on the other hand, you have words replacing actions when actions should be replacing words. You say you’re going to do something, but where’s the proof ? Some people use words to fill the space where their actions should be. Excuses, alibis, well concocted stories as to why their plans fell through. Words can get you into a lot of trouble – they are a weapon, and like all weapons, should be used wisely. Words can be crafted sneakily and brutally whereas actions are a direct attack. Hearsay and gossip are all the acts of words gone wrong. Actions mixed with words equals gossip, words mixed with actions equals a plot. It’s almost as if nothing is sacred anymore and we are incapable of communicating and working things out properly. Nobody is willing to be held accountable for their actions anymore, nobody is acting properly anymore. Nobody knows how to grow up anymore.

sea of paper.

Sophia Mihailidis — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 15:47:17 +0000

I’ve been absent from my blog for quite some time now. I’ve become closer with my journal, keeping it beside my bed at all times. I feel it’s more intimate, more detailed, more raw and more private. My entries in my journal are beginning to scare me. Not because of the things that I write, or the things that cross my mind, but the twisted state I seem to be in when I am thinking these thoughts. It’s almost like a trance. When I write, I feel as though I’m on drugs – I can write forever, in a land of my very own, with seas of paper. Golden binding and crooked typing. Font as black as the night sky. Just the way I like it. And I can write forever, and ever, and ever. Nobody to disturb me. My thoughts would be solid, rather than travelling along the wind. They would be forever. And I would be happy.

So, what else. Life has twisted me. Love has carved into me. Friends have abused me. Family has misguided me. I, myself, seem to be a bit judgmental and dishonest when I’m speaking to my conscience. I have battles that I don’t know how to win, brewing inside me with such intensity that it wakes me up in the middle of my slumber. My past memories and experiences have been haunting m lately and I don’t know how to let them go. They’ve been controlling me, pulling the strings and watching me dance underneath their horrible, treacherous grins. My memories are becoming unbearable. There is so much in me wanting to get out, scratching and clawing underneath my skin, just waiting for my epidermis to rip apart; they want to spring out, carrying my organs in their hands, clapping and dancing at the wonderful thought of my demise. The things inside me, they’re monsters. They’re ugly and they’re cruel and they’re evil. They want to hurt me, they want to torture me and taunt me so that I writhe in agony for their own disgusting, guilty pleasure. Fueled by my past and my memories, my prior encounters that I am nowhere near fond of, they want to see me fall – for good. No, this is not good enough for them. A relapse ? They want more. They thirst for it, salivating at the thought, clambering around inside of me rustling as many bones as they can.

Let them escape. Let them be free. Let them run around in the summer sun, free from the barricades they are currently in, free from the bony bloody prison they so desperately crave to be free from. Let them stop bothering me and let them allow me to breathe freely, to think normally and to function properly. Let them bring me thousands of books, and thousands of pens, and a world of my own so we can live in harmony. Let me write my fables and set them free, gushing and crashing like the waves of the ocean, rustling about in the wind and being carried out into the next world. Let me build my sea of paper.

mind games.

Sophia Mihailidis — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 16:07:02 +0000

We all play mind games. Intentionally, unintentionally, to flirt, to annoy, to draw closer, to distance ourselves. Each to their own reasons and mechanisms. Nobody can say that they have never spoken to someone with their eyes, or used a social situation to their advantage, or something along those lines. We all play.

In the context of flirtatious mind games, men like to play to feel as though they are in control. They attempt to convince women, as well as themselves, that they are absolutely irresistible and that they’d be mad to let such a golden opportunity pass. Women, in turn, play mind games to bring the men back down to earth and show them who is really boss. Mind games are an unspoken war, a power struggle between two keen yet proud people. Nobody backs down until one has let down the guard and the other can swallow their pride. It’s a fucking waste of time.

I personally hate mind games. Yeah, sure. I flirt a lot. I bat my eyelids and give my famous cheeky grin. I bend over slightly in front of hot guys and giggle at conversations and bullshit like that. But why keep it ongoing ? Once you’re in, you’re in. And it’s not a matter of getting what you want and leaving. This is the part men don’t understand. Flirting isn’t just about hooking in with a girl to sleep with her, and then boot her off. There is nothing wrong with a one night stand but you need to know where to draw the line. If you’re going after someone who hits close to home, in the same social group and whatnot, wouldn’t you want to keep her if you’re going to pursue her at all ? This is the part men don’t understand. Women aren’t necessarily clingy, or obsessive, or bitchy or whipped or anything of the sort. We are just emotional. We wear our hearts on our sleeves and it’s a very, very rare thing to find a guy who understands and respects that fact. We may flirt back, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface.

I’m just over playing mind games. They were fun a few years ago, when I was younger and I had no idea what I was doing. All a learning experience. But now, I’m tired of them. I’ve been mindfucked like nobody would believe. And in the end, I’m the one that gets hurt by reading all the signs wrong – the signs given throughout the flirtatious conversations and gestures and such. I’m the one that ends up in shit. So I’m going to wait, and see if things improve. If you want to keep playing this game, I’m not going to chase you. You’ll be running on your own. But if you want to take a break at the sideline with me, I’ll be waiting.