October 30th, 2009
It WAS 230 in the morning. My boyfriend called to remind me to go to bed. I used to indulge myself in the way he treats me like a child, much thanks to the lack of maternal care and a mishandled childhood, but lately, only lately have I realised how unrealiable I come across others when their jaws gaped at the way we establish a conversation. It's very clear that I'm an absolute childish brat who loses her wallet and whines all night to the boyfriend, who then offers to buy me a nice wallet (in his context of nice, it could be Burberry or even Prada) which I hastily accepts with armadillo skin, but have to clarify that I only intend to choose a wallet of my own affordable price range, nothing fancy. With
that, I continued to sulk and rant about the way life gets so dark
sometimes, maybe even fabricating some misfortunes in my mind to make
myself appear more miserable. Bless the kind soul who then tries harder to cheer me up with all
sorts of brilliance, for example his plans to be here next month (which
made me wanna cry because my skin, though not literally as course as armadillos,
have been inflamed by an outburst of signs of stress and an unhealthy
diet), and us spending so much more time together next year (discreet
plans).
It's disgusting to others but as the narrator of the truest love, I declare under oath that it's harder to find someone who loves you unconditionally than to make sea salt turn into sugar. As long as you're sure you've found that person, I think you'd rather heed my advice of appreciating your gem if you haven't started, than to even try obtaining salt from the sea.
Miss you, A. Come home soon.
I think it's easier to wait for it to happen.