30pictureschallenge: Day 9

this mug reminds me of a pillowcase i saw recently, in an article about tavi gevinson where they put in some photos of her in her room. the pillowcase in question has "here you will dream of endless kissing" on it, and i sort of wish it was mine.

i have a bit of a love-hate relationship with love. wait, hear me out. i'm a reader and sometimes a writer (a lover and sometimes a fighter) and so the concept of love to me is sometimes that it's a thing of power and awesomeness, like all you need is love... like the moulin rouge guy, wasshisname mcgregor (kidding- love ewan and all of his accent and face). maybe it's the first parts that come with being in love that i love so much. the parts where you're bulletproof and giddy.

i don't love in halves. when i love a person, that's basically like saying, i really like them quite a lot. i could write poetry and songs and let's face it, drop them into blog entries as much as i can.

or i have in the past, anyways. but after this last particular failed relationship, i can't help but feel a little suspicious of love. like love is a bit of a tricker and a heartbreaker. i suspect that i'm overly enthusiastic about being in love, and that probably what i should do is just chill the fuck out and play it cool, let love sneak up on me, impress me, buy me flowers. oh wait, that's not love - that's just a nice boy.

i've managed to date a whole collection of people who may have, collectively among them, bought me flowers 3 times in an accumulative total of 7.5 years. i am clearly picking the wrong people, and those people are picking the wrong flowers (by that i obviously mean: no flowers at all). i've always hoped for them, much like i've always hoped for commitment and a little emotional maturity, and yet here i am, me, the friendly blogger, without flowers or commitment or any of those things of the fairytales.

it's a tricky thing though, because even after all that whining, i'd take the endless kissing dreamt of on a special pillowcase, or the warm coffeecup kisses. i'd take them and run away with them, all the way to a dream place full of adult men with aspirations and goals, flowers, and -let's face it- failing actual facial hair, at least the ability to grow some.

love, huh? tricky bastard.