Monthly Archives: March 2013

Can’t Help It

I guess what I’m trying to say is I need the deep end
Keep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes
Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days
Great escape lost track of time and space
She’s a silver lining climbing on my desire

And I go crazy ’cause here isn’t where I wanna be
And satisfaction feels like a distant memory
And I can’t help myself,
All I wanna hear her say is “Are you mine? ”

Well, are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)
Are you mine? (Or just mine tonight?)
Are you mine? (Are you mine? Mine?)

And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways
So in case I’m mistaken,
I just wanna hear you say you got me baby
Are you mine?


Thought Catalog

You have talked about moving to New York since you were a little kid. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where the love affair started, but you clearly got it lodged in your brain that it was the place on the map where everything would start making more sense. Through some kind of osmosis, your entire being would be enhanced, and the things you wanted would be made infinitely more possible. There were never enough pictures you could cut out and paste on your wall of the city skyline at night. You wrote poems to New York as though it were a human being, as though it could love you back — even sitting in your bed in a totally different state — and felt like you were speaking to someone who could hear you.

Even though, at least geographically speaking, New York is not that far, you never went. You…

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College, Like A Virgin

“Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time I feel alive…” y apagué la primer alarma. Me sorprendí porque no pensé que llegaría a conciliar el sueño, estuve hasta las 3.30 AM porque tengo el recuerdo de verlo en el celular. Di miles de vueltas en la cama, pesaba “dormite, dormite, dormite” y no lo conseguía. Con toda la suerte, dormí 3 horas y media. “Oh they kissed! Holy shit! Cue the confetti and make a gif!…” segunda alarma apagada, ahí me levanté. Entre una y otra ya estaba pensando en que debería escribir lo que fuera que llegara a suceder en este día y aquí estoy, muy, muy contenta con los resultados. Continue reading

Thought Catalog

I believe you are my person. I love you, even though you don’t love me. I love you, even though there’s nothing in it for me anymore. There’s just loving you, but that’s enough for me. I find you to be one of the most exquisite humans I’ve ever met, and knowing you is all it takes to love you. I don’t need anything in return. Getting to be acquainted with your intelligence, depth, understanding, endurance, humor, wisdom, (I could go on), is what love is, and it’s why I choose to love you so intently.

Thank you for loving me when I didn’t love myself. I pushed away because I believed that I wasn’t worthy of love. I came back because I thought you were the only person who cared.

But you weren’t, and you’re not. You were, however, the person with whom I fell most intensely in love…

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Thought Catalog

We had the most perfect day, even though it was just any other day. We got back to your place in the evening, we sat in our pyjamas and drank wine, it was like ‘this is what we do.’

I was surprised when we climbed into bed together. I was overly aware that I’d stripped my face of all my make-up and that it was the first time you’d be seeing me without it. I turned the light off swiftly.

I lay there. I could hear you breathing quietly, my head felt fuzzy. Our elbows were touching. I was so aware of the feeling of your skin against mine. I slipped my hand into yours, I didn’t know if this was okay, but I needed you to know that I liked you sexually, romantically, infinitely. You held my hand and then you lightly stroked my fingers. We lay there for…

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Thought Catalog

This is a letter I was too afraid to send out, but it comes from the heart. These are the things I would tell him, if we were to meet again.

Dear You,

Hi. I never knew I’d see you again. It has been ages since I last saw you, and frankly I thought that would be the last of it.

Well, apparently not.

The previous time we spoke seemed like ages ago. Memories of being around you are stored in a rusty cabinet, untouched. I can no longer recall your favorite catchphrases, or the way you wear your hair. I can’t remember the way your eyes would dart around the room, or how you were able to make me feel so overwhelmed with emotions.

But I can remember the way you always had that ugly jeans-and-slippers combination on unless I protested, and the way you gave me sad pitying…

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Thought Catalog

Such a wonderful thing it is, to be chased. To be adored and flattered and most certainly wanted. It is, after all, why we don’t mind when our phones beep and vibrate, letting us know that someone we not so certainly want wants us. But we keep them around because we don’t want it to stop—because that flattery is like a good scotch we want to nurse for a while. Or, at least, until we get sick of it and want to switch to gin.

I’ve been there before—holding on to something I didn’t really want just in case I decided I wanted it. Completely unwilling to cut things off for fear I’d want them again, selfishly holding on because, well, the attention is always satisfying. I’ve played and toyed with someone else’s feelings knowingly aware of the pain I’d be causing but choosing to ignore the reality. And then…

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