“Not one date. Two years of on and off seeing each other but not once did I get picked up, car door opened for me, a nice conversation over dinner, and dessert to top the night off. Instead it was late nights in your car and kisses on the lips that had stories to tell but you never even tried to get to know them. But you “loved” me, right? That’s what you said after the night you cussed me out and drove off. What a funny way to show that you love someone. I think that we all so badly want to be loved that we settle for the “goodnight, I love you” texts even if it isn’t love at all. I know I did.”
“I thought I was the only one in the world who struggled with the scar you talked about. I thought I was the only girl who was constantly fighting against the addiction. But, I read your email and it was as if I found another me. Someone who would understand. Someone who would know the shame that comes from it and the fact you can’t admit it, because girls don’t struggle with those kinds of dirty things. Someone who knows the constant giving in and the promise you’ll never do it again after the deed is done, only to do it over and over again. But, also someone who knows the grace God gives. The forgiveness that He pours out each and every time we commit it. How God loves us just the way we are, but that He also loves us to much to leave us there. I pray that you will be healed of your addiction, that God will battle against it and you’ll never struggle again. Because, I pray that for myself too. And I pray that for every one of us girls that feels alone with our scars and struggles that aren’t the “nice” sins you can bring up in youth groups and church to confess. I pray that we will be set free, that we will rise above and cling to God through it all. But, most of all I pray that we will never start taking God’s grace, forgiveness, and love for granted. Rather, each time we will cling to the promise that He clothes us in a robe of righteousness and casts our sins to the depths of the sea. And maybe, another time we will hear our stories being spoken, but instead of stories of scars and shame, they will be stories of God’s glory and redeeming power.”
“t’s Good Friday. The day that I’m reminded that I will never be alone because Jesus was crucified and died out of love for me on the cross.
Tonight I led worship as a pastor and I’ve never felt more alone looking out at everyone because I could not help but wonder when this emptiness will go away and love will overtake me.
Sometimes the people who proclaim God’s love every day are the ones who desperately need to be loved. II wish this truth would be announced more often.”
“I find myself wanting to share dirty laundry about my marriage. Not because I want to hurt him, but because I want people to understand there is the possibility of forgiveness and the possibility of continuing on after an affair. It hasn’t been an easy road getting here or continuing on. Some days I don’t think about it at all, and other days it still consumes me. I want to scream from the rooftops that I love him, but there is a shameful side that knows many won’t understand. I cannot believe all we have overcome since his mistake. I love him. Even more now than before.”
“You drink a little too much and try a little too hard and go home to your cold bed at 2:47 am and think “that was fine” and then before you know it, your entire life turns into a long line of “fine”.”
“I’m sitting here eating left-over birthday cake out of the box. It was really good four days ago, not bad two days ago. But now it’s just stale. And I keep standing over the box eating it with a 5-day-old fork because I don’t know what else to do. I just want to eat stale cake. Maybe because it reminds me of the 2nd. That was the last day you held me. The last day you said, “what kind do you want?” when deciding which carton of ice cream would come along for the ride. The last day you took two spoons out of the drawer and said “let’s go”. The last time you opened my door and sat me in your passenger seat and took me to see the city. The last day you asked if I wanted to go back or “just come home”. The last day I felt at home. The last day you kissed me. And maybe the first day you loved me.
We drove to see the city. But when we got there, the fog had come in. Not even a silhouette stood beyond the I-75 street lights. We knew it was beautiful, we had seen it before. But we were too late. Too late to enjoy what we knew was there…like it wasn’t ever there to begin with. Seemed fitting really…I knew it was beautiful-but you were too late. And now I’m still looking for the city in us and it’s just gone.
I haven’t wanted to write about this. I probably shouldn’t be. You were the first one after him that I had written about. And maybe I’m just superstitious, but I was hoping with everything in me that my writing of you would make you real-permanent.
I wanted to be a memoir writer. Instead I’ve got eight chapters of mediocre fiction here with no resolution. And nobody wants a shitty book like that.”
every year, resolutions are made. people want to be a better person, or go to the gym everyday, or lose weight. the gym will be full of new years resolutioners for a week or two until they give up and life gets in the way. I think for the sixth year in a row my resolution is the same.
in 2015, I wanted love. not just any kind of love but I wanted the “do crazy things, over the moon” kind of love. well there’s 3 days left of 2015 and i haven’t found that love yet. I can’t help but wonder if God forgot about me. If God forgot that I want a happy ending too. I wonder If my plan for love ended in a cul-de-sac in my hometown years ago the last time i felt that way. It’s never a good feeling to think that God forgot about you, that the plan he has doesn’t exist, or that you just don’t get a happy ending.
Christmas was a time for engagements. I think i saw at least 10 engagements on Facebook in the last month. After the first couple, it’s almost a numbing feeling. You want to be happy, but the happiness is outweighed by sadness and concern, concern that your 24 year old friends have their lives together enough to be ready to spend it with someone else and you’re sitting in bed, binge watching TV and drinking a bottle of wine.
I just want to know if my love story exists. I want Nicholas Sparks to take a stab at writing me a happily ever after, hopefully not where my true love dies in a tragic accident (as so many of his stories end).
Despite it all, in 2016, I’m still hoping for love. The can’t sleep, can’t eat, over the moon kind of love. Love that people gush about and want to scream from the top of the mountains about. I just want to experience love in the truest sense, the sense that I don’t have to apologize or hide who I am. I’m going to keep hoping that God’s desk is messy, and my love story ends up at the top this year and he starts writing my story again.“
Normally they swoop in with their sweet talking and I build a case for them. I sit down for too many coffees with too many people and I list out the reasons why I should be in this relationship.
”The feelings will come eventually,” I say. “Right?”
I don’t build a case when it comes to you. I just come home to you. You’re where I feel safe. You’re where I feel at ease.
You built your life just right before I came along and I’ve been pleased to find you left a space for me. You give me the same feeling I get when driving home for the holidays— 900 miles— and I pull up to the driveway and see the lights left on for me.
You’re like the lights left on.
If I had to build a case then I guess it would be this: you choose me. Over and over, you choose me. You choose my ugly. You choose my beautiful. You choose what I know you will find attractive. You choose the things I try to hide.
“It’s 8:07pm… I’ve been waiting all day for a Happy Birthday from the man I unproudly love. A Happy Birthday text never came, but one saying “I don’t love you, I never did.” Came through. I’m going to assume he forgot my birthday.”
“My friends call me a serial dater. One suitor walks out and another quickly steps up to take his place – I don’t think I go out of my way to find a guy but I definitely don’t do anything to prevent a relationship if I feel like he’s a good person. During my short single periods, it’s always been easy to fill my time with someone cute, someone funny, someone smart, someone kind until “boyfriend material” comes along. But, inevitably, the whirlwind romance comes to an end. Usually a messy end. And I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt – oh, it does. Every single time, every relationship, in the quiet moments of comfort, around month 9 or 10, I let my mind wander into the possibility of “the end.” I’ll be okay, I think. I don’t need them, I tell myself, I just WANT them. But, when I empty my box of collected clothes and toiletries and books and condoms that I’ve taken back from my drawer at their place, a tornado touchs down somewhere near my navel. It takes my breath away and rocks my stomach. I cry until I throw up. I sleep on the bathroom floor because it’s the one place I know won’t smell like them, feel like them. Slowly, day by day, week by week, I scrap myself from the tile. It’s the same cycle every time – I tell myself I won’t, I tell myself I’ll wait, but every time I let myself fall into a relationship. All the while, I ache for you. I’ve never wanted an ex back. I’ve never had resurfacing feelings for anyone I once dated. But for eight, long years, I’be dreamt about your lips and the fleeting moments I got to taste them. I wake unsure of whether we fucked the night before or if had just been my imagination running wild during my sleep. I screenshot our text conversations, plan out hours for our skype sessions, and leave a pile of discarded outfits before I find the perfect one whenever we’re about to hang out. We say we’re best friends because we don’t know what else to call one another – I know you feel it, too. You’re the only one I’ve pictured at the altar and you’re the only one I never let myself fall in love with.”
