It’s just a thin line that appears
So delicate and fine that you wonder if it’s even there
But as you shake your head and clear your eyes
A deeper longer darker crack begins to form
You cannot ignore it anymore
It cannot be wished away
It will not disappear
It’s broken.
Sometimes –
Beyond repair.
How good is it to have clearly-defined and healthy boundaries?
I have a colleague friend whom I have texted privately on occasion, sometimes my friend would reply and sometimes not. But would always speak to me on our work Skype accounts.
Yesterday I was ill in bed and not logged into my work account. I whatsapped to say I am sick and cold and maybe I will play candy crush on my mobile.
My friend replied with a somewhat terse, “please do not whatsapp, keep it to Skype only”.
At first I was taken aback and felt a bit shocked inside.
And then I thought, well, it is good to know that person’s boundaries. I can then respect those boundaries. Much better than ghosting me. Actually more respectful too. I hadn’t figured that we could quite openly communicate on one communication device and not on another.
But at least now I know.
One of the nicest things a man can do for a woman is to help her feel secure. To make her feel that he is there for her. I speak for myself on this, but I have learnt that when I am feeling insecure it prompts a whole rash of odd, eccentric, psycho behavior. Attention-seeking behavior. Random texts that make no sense. Random words that make even less. Mood swings and aggression. Clinginess and tears. Poetry and prose and writing and a never-ending well of words.
When I am feeling secure I am a whole different person. Confident and out-going. Centered and in control. In my own power.
My success-relationships in the past had this in common. I felt secure. I felt wanted. I felt desired. I felt attractive. And I felt the other person was ‘into me’. That they were going to put in effort to pursue. That all I had to do was allow them to do just that. And none of them involved ‘flirting’. There was attraction, but it was on a deeper level than the superficial game of flirting. It involved speaking to me. Getting to know me. And addressing me by name. Like I’m a real person and not a random female sex object. Thats always a start!
For one day only
I will tell you my thoughts
I will write them down for you
Tomorrow they will be erased
What I have to say will all be gone
No trace of these words will ever remain
I would like you to know how much I love you
The pain in my chest when I think of you
The longing to be close to you
The desire of my heart
But it can never be
It will never be
All that will remain
Is a blank page
With no words typed
Or written
No trace of any words
At all
Why do some relationships work, and others don’t? What makes people connect, or not? How does the spark take flame, and not flicker and die?
I wish I knew. I wish there was a soul to match my own.
Of all the dreams
We dreamt
And all the plans
We planned
Of all the time
We spent
And all the love
We shared
I never dreamt
I never planned
I never imagined
I could be
I would be
Your one
Your only
Your regret
For every wrong thing you did
For every unkind word
I made an excuse
For you
It took awhile for me
To realize
I really do
Love myself more
Someone’s left you a voicemail message, but all you can make out are the last words: “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you months ago. Bye.” Who is it from, and what is this about?
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you months ago. Bye.”
Hmm. What should you have told me months ago?
What haven’t you been telling me?
All this time we have been together
For some reason
I am not getting a good feeling
I knew there must have been cause
For all your weekend work
The unscheduled callouts
Work-related schedules
That would happen
On my time
Go
I’m over you
There is no need
For any more messages
Left for me on my voice mail
That I can hardly make out
Do not want to make out
Do not want to hear it
And BTW, there is no message
That I do not know anyway
I was not born yesterday
I do not mind sharing
It is secrets I do not like
And information being withheld
As if I would even care
I’m tired, I’m off to bed
But before I go –
No joy from me
Help yourself
Good night
Poems and Petals 