Name:Haena Country:South Korea Birthday:10/2/1990 Gender:Female
Interests:whatever I like to do,,
which would be anything that is fun and don't require any responsibility or work..
LOL Expertise:whatever I'm good at,,
which would be sports? Occupation:Student
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I haven’t put my emotions into words, written words, lasting forms, for too long. I just need to think it through and out, think it away, think up a shelter I can inhabit while I try not to think. I’m going to imagine a conversation between you and I that I know I’ll never be able to brave. I know I’ll never be able to brave my cowardice – it kills me. You don’t treat me the way a lover is supposed to treat another. Your flippancy, your ridiculous mood changes, your persistent insistence on lack of change. I’ve changed for you, I’ve curbed my temper, I’ve curbed my words, I’ve curbed my fucking sexual appetite. I’ve curbed so many different things, that I do believe I’ve come full round to a self-prophesying rut of emotional lows. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always bad, it’s very often good. But there should be boundaries on the range between the happy Saturday mornings and the devastating Saturday nights. And I can’t offer you a laundry list of events which led to this, it almost seems unfounded, this discontent. But I’ve found that discontent is indeed the antonym to contentedness – which is where I want to be. I can offer you a list of behaviors which chip away at my heart little by little and make me look away and try not to imagine the implication of your actions. I won’t lie; physical affection is a big player in it. But it’s more than just sex. It’s more than just nudity or comfort with nudity. It’s about kissing me, or even hugging me goodbye. It’s when you don’t want to hold my hand, when you turn away from a kiss, when you bury your face in the pillows in the hope that I won’t even try to kiss you. I guess I have to come to terms with the fact that you’re not like me. You don’t want to be near me every single moment of my waking and sleeping day. You don’t to let me know how much you appreciate me all the time. You don’t really show me much at all. Forgive me, but it’s just too hard to trust in your feelings for me when I can’t really see proof of any. There’s no evidence to back up the claim. It’s not okay for you to treat me this way. It is absolutely and definitely not.
I question the thoughts behind writing about a character whom I have yet to meet. I have doubts about whether what I write here will influence who you will be when you suddenly appear one day in a magical moment.
Yes - I expect the moment will be magical and breathtaking. I do not believe in love at first sight, but I believe that when first I see you my heart will breathe and fall a little in adoration with you. You will smile and I will not be able to stop my mouth from reciprocating yours. Or maybe, you will be crying - broken and hurt by the existence we know as life. Then; then I shall break a little bit with you, and we can piece the shards together, our separate pieces into one peace.
When we first touch, I will feel a connection. Our bodies will conduct attraction. And I will think about that moment all day at random unsuspecting moments and grin goofily, missing out on all my lecture notes. At night I will not be able to sleep. I will toss and turn and furiously ponder whether you too are tossing and turning, spending a restless night with thoughts of maybe in your head. I may or may not also be pondering on when I can have you toss and turn with me, beside me.
I will wait anxiously and stressfully for replies to the texts I write and erase eleven times: too sappy, too blunt, too long, too short, too desperate, too nonchalant, too platonic, too sexual, too early, too late, too honest? I will be nervous when I am looking at your number saved on my phone, debating on how to gather the fortitude to hear your voice without turning into a blathering idiot.
I'm not a jealous person, but I might become the greenest tomato - insecure and immature. I will hide it and beat myself up and fail to comprehend, why I'm suddenly so irrational. I will want to spend inordinate amounts of time with you, but I'll force myself to schedule in time with my friends so I am not tempted in a spare moment to see you yet again.
I am an easy going person, but you will make me frantic and fretful. I am a logical person, but you will overwhelm me with emotions until I am just a nervous wreck of inexpressible... stuff. I live however I want to live, but I will start desiring to slowly mold myself into a hand you can hold - forever.
Isn't this what love is?
I want to have breakfast together every morning. I want to wake you up with kisses and coffee - both hot, but not hot enough to burn. I want to take your hand and show you off to the whole world; because you will give me strength and courage enough to stand up tall to all bigots - both in and out of our lives. I will be content just because someone as beautiful as this, would want to be with me.
I want to sign my name next to yours on a marriage certificate; and I want to fight side by side with you until that becomes a possibility. I want to bear your baby - to give you a child. And I want to disagree over what color the nursery should be painted in, I think green. I want to see your eyes shine with love towards our family. And I promise my eyes will always reflect yours.
And when I'm eighty, I still want to pick you flowers. I still want to fight about everyday things but know you still love me no matter what. That said, I will still want to apologize, because it's another way to express one more time how much love I have for you.
I want to take my last breath, safe, in the fact that I have been loved by the woman whom I have also loved.
But I'm just eighteen. And I have yet to meet you.
What is it with women?!?!?!!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!!?!?!?!??!!? seriously, are there no lesbian women who don't want/have drama!?!
One girl, with whom I shared secrets taken carefully out of carefully locked compartments in the mind, turned a nasty shade of -ignoring text messages- after a drunken night of sex. I woke up sprawled by myself in her bed with just my black skinny jeans and to a room spinning on the axis of alcohol. I found her in the next room fallen asleep while texting the girl I had initially wanted to seduce. See, they're friends, and all three of us were supposed to hang out. But apparently, since I don't remember, I told the girl I'd fucked to tell the girl I liked not to come over. For the obvious reasons - me being naked and passed out. I thought it had been a good thing that we'd shared a night of shared showers and hickeys, because we connected, because love doesn't always have to be where you looked for it. But after the first two texts the next hungover morning, she always had work, admitted to feeling a little awkward when she finally returned my missed calls. Note the s on the end of calls. I have too much pride, for that fact to be easily accepted.
Now her friend, the one I originally had wanted to hold hands with, and watch movies with, and fall a little in love with, called me. Asked me if I was coming out tonight? I'm at home, reading the romances of other people online, putting pictures of myself on okcupid for other people to judge and say about "nah, I don't want to message that one back". That too, really, does not come easily with my pride. I have enough insecurities as it is. Why didn't she call a little earlier in the day? When my plans were still fluid?
I can't seem to stay interested in someone for longer than a couple of weeks, or at most, a month. The scary thing is that, how long I am interested in someone is directly related to how early/often I have sex with them. Before you think, "asshole", I would like to say that I truly truly want to be in a commited relationship. I really do. I mean, what girl doesn't want to be madly in love? And good sex, is a crucial part of a romantic relationship (in my opinion). I'm sick of always being the heartbreaker. I'm always so optimistic about new relationships, and I am completely devastated each time I start to lose interest in them. By the time I lose interest, the other person has fallen for me... I'm a decent human being, but I've broken too many hearts to feel like one... I don't know how to deal with the guilt. I really don't. I'm always wishing desperately that things will be different with the new person... Maybe I just need a shrink? Do any other women feel the same way that I do?
