What if...?

Carrie Bradshaw sits at the table, with her three best friends, and tearfully asks, "I woke up this morning and thought, 'What if I hadn't had met you?'". The scene chokes me up everytime. Then it got me to thinking, there are probably 3 major points in my life where I think, if fate had not thrown these in my path, as fate had allowed Carrie to meet her 3 soulmates, what would have happened to my life? Here goes:

1. What if I had never done a masters? For me, that was a huge turning point in my life. I was 24 and had finished a contract with an up and coming women's college back home. My father had given me the opportunity to come to England to further my education. At that point in my life I had reached a stage where I was incredibly content with the way my life was. I had a great job, that was trying to entice me renew my contract, I had (and still do) wonderful friends and a great social life, and I had a good relationship with my father as he allowed me to have freedom. I was actually in a great place in life that I was incredibly lucky to be in. So why did I jump at the opportunity to go to England to continue my studies? Simple, I would have been kicking myself for the rest of my life if I didn't. I would have thrown away a chance that most girls back home dream of and would have been branded foolish for the rest of my life.

2. What if I had stayed engaged? I don't know a single (Arab/semi Arab) girl who has not been engaged or been set up in an arranged marriage at some point or another. No matter how independent they are or how 'open minded' and Westernised they consider themselves to be, at one point or another they WILL contemplate an arranged marriage, and at some point they will give in. In my case it was the fact that I trusted my mother and because I'd heard so many 'good' things said about this particular guy. He wasn't my type at all, but I wanted to give him a chance because he was apparently your typical 'good' guy who was just looking to settle down. I know I say this to everyone, but it doesn't make it any less true when I say that there was nothing wrong with him. He never treated me badly or unkind. He was generous, sweet and very well mannered. What was worse was that his mother was (and still is) a wonderful person, who I got on with incredibly well (still do). The problem was with me. My heart wasn't completely in it and I wasn't ready to settle down. I liked him, he was a good person, he would have done everything to make me happy, I know, but I just didn't feel enough for him to think I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. My family and friends told me that the love would 'come afterwards'. I'd be told the different stories of how someone's friend had gotten married to a guy she couldn't stand to look at on her wedding day, but they now have 3 kids and she's incredibly happy she stuck with him. Stuck with him? Are you kidding?

I actually do have a cousin who kind of went through that. When I went to see her we spoke about how I felt about things. She said to me that she gave her husband a chance because she'd been told he was a good guy. But she said that she didn't feel that kind of spark or excitment during their engagement. She said that things blossomed after they got married and she told me just how wonderful he was. She said that if you're willing to take the risk, then you could be happy. Although I appreciated her honesty, I also had to appreciate just how lucky she was as well. It was a GAMBLE she had taken. What if the love never came? What if one day she woke up and decided she'd had enough and just wanted to smother him? How could she sleep with a guy who she wasn't completely heartfelt about? What about those annoying habits he must have had? How much jarring on her nerves could she take before she'd want to take a cleaver to his head? I wasn't ready to gamble the rest of my life, to promise a commitment to someone I wasn't sure I wanted to be with. To promise someone I would love and cherish them even though there was a possibility that that might not have been true.

After almost two years of being together, I did the honorable thing and told my fiance it was off. He was heartbroken, and he tried many times to convince me to give him another chance. But I told him he was better of without me and should be with someone who would truly appreciate him. Now though, I wonder what it would have been like. I don't think things would have grown. I would have numbed myself from everything and just fallen into the role of dutiful wife. I don't think I want to contemplate how I'd be if I'd had kids, for some reason that just doesn't compute. It wouldn't have killed my spirit, but it would have dulled me.

3. What if my brother hadn't passed away? It's painful and sinful to ask God why my brother died so young. It's even worse to think back on how for a whole month, as you watch his illness take over, you asked yourself, was this going to be terminal? Then chastise yourself for thinking something so stupid. I tell everyone, 'You would have loved my brother.' Everyone did. He was outgoing, funny, clownish and used his gangly features to get a laugh out of people. He had a temper on him, but he had such a soft and vulnerable side that makes me wish I hugged him more. I can't talk about him without mentioning a funny story of some sort. Although I don't know how my life would have turned out if he was still alive, but I know that half the things that happened would never have been. I would never have been engaged, I would never have met people who I thought were friends who ended up being my worst nightmare, I wouldn't have come to England, I wouldn't have done a masters or PhD. I wouldn't have met T-shirt man, Bus Driver, Architect. Would I ever have met Iris, Lulwa or Seroo? I honestly don't know how life would have turned out.

All I know is, everything happens for a reason. You are tested in many ways. It all just depends on how you handle them and how you react afterwards. Fate is not throwing yourself to the lions and saying there was nothing you could do about it.

Retail therapy: bad for the wallet, good for the soul

So basically GBL and I spent one incredible night together. I wore a fitted black dress (so fitted it looked painted on) with diamante heels and gradually through the evening his arm was getting more comfortable around his waist. We had an amazing time, I loved it, I didn't do the typical chick thing and fire 100 questions a minute, I just enjoyed the moment (and so glad I did now).

Two days later I get a call from him, being evasive and talking trivialities. I couldn't bare his tip-toeing any longer and just decided to get to the point in the kindest way possible. So I gently asked him, "What's on your mind?" I don't think he was quite expecting this, but I'm hoping that at this point he realises that I don't act like most girls as I hate to do the norm. He became profusely apologetic and took all the blame for what had happened the night before. He apologised for his behaviour and for leading me on. It DID knock the wind out of me and because of the shock I really couldn't respond, which probably worked to both our favours as I saved him from the potential abuse I could have hurled at him, which would have soured our friendship. Instead I injected humour into the situation and tried to make little quips when I found my voice. I'm guessing at this point he really could not believe his luck that he could have been let off so easily. If I'm to be truly honest at this point it was because I'd left quite a bit of money with him and I didn't want to lose it!

After the phone call had ended, I was incredibly angry and upset. How could he have been sorry for what had happened? I treasured that moment, then he came and p!$ed all over it in spectacular fashion! No, I wouldn't let him do this. I'd make him sorry that he'd done this to me... and so forth. In all honesty, I realised the only thing hurt was my pride. GBL was someone who I had fancied - past tense - but I realised I still liked him as a friend, I really did. The fact that he wanted us to still continue to be friends, for me to not stop calling or talking to him, to not cut him out of my life, hopefully (and I really do mean that because otherwise I'll sound incredibly naive) meant that he felt the same way I did.

I also realised, he wasn't the one I really wanted, and therefore, not a loss to be mourned, but to turn into a friend to treasure. I woke up feeling much better, happier and of course in the mood to leave the house. So I did. However, whether it was down to some sort of deep, repressed anger or sadness, I found that my recently cleared credit card was going to resurface. I found myself walking to the Topshop flagstore on Oxford Street. Now normally I only walk into that place to buy earrings as I never find their clothes to be flattering or reasonably priced. Today, however, I walked in with an open mind and a brand new card, which brought about a brand new respect for the high street giant.

I could not believe that considering it was a Sunday, how comfortable it was to roam around the store and find some little treasures tucked away in the racks, how their bags were actually truly elegant and how their silky mini skirts looked so feminine. As I passed the Fairtrade section of the store my eye caught the sight of something truly brilliant. In the t-shirt section was the perfect garment that should be used as a 'pick-me-up' for all girls whose hearts have been broken, whose self-confidence has taken a hit, or who in general want to show their sentiments to the world. The t-shirt read "I recycle boys". It was love at first sight. That was the last item I put in my basket, and I think the best buy of the lot (I got a silk, mini skirt from the Kate Moss selection which puts it in a close second as everyone knows you need to be tiny to fit into that stuff - ego boost points galore with that one!). When I got to the counter, I realised that my poor little account was going to take quite a beating for this unscheduled bit of retail therapy, but I walked the high streets of London (and Soho) feeling incredibly proud and empowered. I knew that tomorrow I was going to wear this t-shirt proudly to university, to my meeting with my supervisor and of course through the streets of London.

If there is one thing I believe a girl must have in her wardrobe, it must be an attitude enhancing garment or confidence boosting one - ladies, I believe I've found mine!

PS. I'm posting that picture on my facebook profile... let's hope he has as much of a sense of humour as I do.

What do I come back to?

So I've been back for a little over a month now, and my sanity is still in tact. In fact, I'm a lot more mellow than I thought I would be, which is a good thing. I think it's because I have my research to distract me that allows me to keep that balance in my brain, and that when I want to relax, I really can. I've seen a few friends, but I'm not as antsy as last time I was here to see everyone because at this point it's my research that's getting in the way. However those who I have seen have told me the same thing (bar one). When they ask me how I'm doing in England and if I'm enjoying my PhD. When I tell them that I'm really happy there, they all then put a loving hand on my arm or shoulder and say, "stay there." That's not meant as an insult, it's meant as loving advice from one woman to another. They've known freedom, they've tasted independance and then had to come back to a life where everything is boiled down to whether you can get a man to do it for you because you sure as hell can't. To a place where there is no life other than work (if you're lucky enough to even like your job), going out shopping, going out to restaurants or going out to see friends/socialise.

Each friend/cousin/aunt who's seen me asks me what my life is like these days. It's almost as if they're asking me about a true love that I just adore, my face lights up, a smile spreads and I tilt my head to the side. Just by that look people can tell just how happy I am to be in London. I'll tell them that I'm happy and that life there is just how I've always wanted it to be, that although it's expensive, it's sometimes cold and dreary, there's always something to do and something to love. I don't go into too much detail into life in London because I'd hate for them to gossip or think I've gone mad living there away from my dad, but they can see how different things are for me and how content I am with life there.

And each time I'm done, they will always ask me, "Will you come back after you've finished your studies?" And each time I'll shrug and reply, "If there's a job here for me, then we'll see. For now I'll just see who wants me or picks up my CV." But they can see the glint in my eye and the corners of my mouth twitch, and they know that I secretly do not want to come back. They know that I cannot let on that I have no real intention of coming back, but that I'm not going to start rumours by flat out refusing to come back.

And each time I politely answer, they will lovingly warn me not to come back. If I value my sanity and happiness, I should not come back. To come back would turn me into one of them, a drone in a society where everything is superficial and progress is at a snail's pace. An aunt, who I have to admit is one of my favourites, told me not to come back. "What would you come back to? A job you hate? Marriage? Your dad? Trust me, stay in England, be happy, don't come back." It's funny how all the women (again, bar one) feel the same way. It's like getting a verbal, loving hug.

However, like this single woman who does not agree with the other women, the men have a different opinion of what I should do. They, of course, think I should come back once I'm done. I ask them why. They all say, "Because you're one of us and you need to start your life here again. You'll get a great paying job, be pampered at home and then you can settle down at get married." That last line always sticks in my craw. It makes me dig my heels into the ground and scowl at them. My favourite cousin and closest friend actually said that. When he came to see me in England, and he could see just how happy I was, his main concern was "and what happens when you want to get married?" I couldn't believe that was his main concern about my life - my life, as a woman would not be complete or fulfilled if I did not get married. How sexist can you get?

I look at life here and I realise that to come back here, to make my roots again, would be the hardest ever. When I was 12 and moved here, it took me 8 years to settle and become happy. Now that I'm 27, I think I'm too old for that. I'm already settled, I'm already happy with what I have. I'm tired of moving and I don't have the energy - physically and emotionally to do it anymore.

So maybe London is my true love, something that I can't bare the thought of being parted from. It took me 10 years to get back, it was my goal for a whole decade, do they really think I'd want to give that up?

*Song of the moment: "In The Waiting Line" Zero 7

A wonderful holiday - shame it had to end

Yesterday I dropped my mother, sister and nephew at the airport. I had had an amazing time with them, and of course I left them feeling that I didn't spend enough time with them. I loved looking after my nephew (although it certainly sobered me up on ANY broody intentions I MAY have had), and I had a great time showing my sister the sights and highlights of London life. And of course I got to spend a (albeit marginally) little quality time with my mum. My sister was here for 3 weeks and my mother was here for 2. It was a wonderful time and it of course ended all too soon.



For some reason though it was extremely painful for my sister to leave. For the first time in our lives, my sister went out as adults and enjoyed a healthy social and night life. We went out to a gig, went out with friends, went dancing, and she enjoyed dinners out with people she hadn't seen in a while. She had had a wonderful holiday, everyone made sure of it. It was wonderful, and at the same time, understandably hard for her.



Let's put it this way, she had had 3 weeks where she could enjoy herself, leave her little boy at home with one of us (and he was very happy to stay with us) and do what she wanted. She met old friends and made new ones. Then she'd have to jump on a plane and go back to being a prim and proper wife and mum back in a country where there's diddle to do. I went ahead with my mum and the luggage in the car and my sister had to take the train with my nephew (there was no room and no baby seat) and as she phoned me to let me know she was on the train I could hear her voice cracking. I could hear her tears as she said, "I don't want to go." I knew that pain. She asked me not to tell our mum, but I knew how much it was hurting her to leave.



It's the same pain that I am absolutely terrified of feeling, tearing yourself away from a life you truly love and enjoy. She now knew what she was missing, and I'd been the one to give her a taste of it. I should have been more sensitive to it all, as I know what it's like when someone lets you know exactly what you're missing. But she had wanted a holiday she wouldn't forget - so I gave it to her.

Finding that balance of knowing how much fun to have is always tricky. It really depends on the person to find that balance, or learn to be able to cut off from it all. Maybe I'm talking nonsense - maybe I'm bullshitting about it all. How is anyone supposed to be able to cut themselves off from a good thing. I could hardly manage that when it came to some of the men in my life (t-shirt man). It's the tired cliche of "that's what makes us human." but really what else can it be? Responsibility is a bitch, and growing up is part of that. It's a painful process that forces us to make choices that we know we don't like or want to make (again another cliche).

I really wonder sometimes if I've done the right thing for myself by allowing myself to live here and lead this wonderful life. I've spoilt myself and can never go back to my old ways or home. I would not be able to fit in and I'd only be further depressed. I knew when I was 12 that I would have a horrible time moving back, I was right. For six years after that I was miserable, depressed and withdrawn from everyone and everything. I wasn't as social or as open as some and I know sometimes I gave my parents hell. Goodness only knows what I'd do this time around if I had to move back. Shave my head? Keep it constantly short and pixie like? Never get married and constantly go out with friends? Wear a dog collar with "Superior bitch" written on it? Get a tattoo - nah, too permanent and I'd change my mind straight after it.

For my sister, she goes back to a hubby (she took her son along for the holiday), for me it would be worse. I'd be moving back in with my parents. It wouldn't be terrible as I'd have my mother, who I love dearly, my problem would be my dad - how I dread that.

Ho hum

Another day, another empty computer lab. My earphones are not working and so I'm sitting here in silence, opening up my documents and writing up my notes saying what I have and haven't done in my research - whoop dee do. I've planned a big night out for my sister and me in London, and at this point I realise just how many times I've told people that "I don't care how many people show up, I just want a fun time." that I realise that the truth is I secretly hope that certain people show up. I look at the number of people I've invited and mentally list the number of people who've said they'd come and think the numbers just don't balance out.



I'm currently semi-seeing someone at the moment. When I told my girlfriend that he wasn't from the team, she cried, "thank f*ck for that!" I'm broadening my horizons I guess. He's 32, 6'2 (my true weakness) and has a great smile. We don't see much of each other because he's constantly traveling for work. He's a lovely guy and is very sweet. I have no problems with him traveling a lot or being extremely busy with work as that allows me my time to do my own work and research without feeling guilty. I just find myself wondering if we are actually a 'good fit'. He's lovely, he's good looking, he's fun (although sometimes I wonder if his idea of fun matches mine) and he's quite the gentleman. I get the little butterflies when I see a message from him and know I'm going to meet him. But at the same time I can't help but wonder just how 'into each other' we really are...



Then something else happens which illustrates just how I really feel about it all, I start thinking about t-shirt man all over again. I've been missing him again and realise that I'm not seeing this new guy to fill in a gap. It's something else. The problem is I'm in a bit of a dilemma. I'm traveling abroad for 3 months as part of my research. This will probably help me to sort my head out as I'll be away from everything and will basically spend my time either relaxing (I haven't visited my family in over a year). I need to distance myself from my London life for a while, take a step back and sort my head out a bit.



This week I thought about it, and finally formed the words to tell someone my idea. When I come back from data collection I'll talk to t-shirt man and see how he feels about giving things another go. He always said to me that when I knew what I wanted to come back to him and we'd see how things would go. Now that I think of it, I wonder if he'd want to. I just don't know if I'd want to go through that humiliation of being turned down and all. But if we do, I also know I run the risk of getting hurt again and even worse. But isn't that the whole point? If you really want that person you'd be willing to risk that?



I guess it all boils down to, do I know what I want and do I want it enough?

Sad but beautiful...

Just how attached can you get after 3 dates with someone? In this case, very. I knew this was coming, I knew things were going to go downhill, I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn't know why he wanted to end things in person. Actually, I did, he felt I deserved at least that. Initially I was slightly bitter that he'd be that selfish to seem the bigger person, for not doing it over the phone. When he asked me to say something, I asked him just why he felt he had to do this in person. He was completely taken aback and wondered why I'd not want to do it in person. I said, "Because then when I don't respond and don't know what to say, it's ok." The moment I said it, I knew it was true.

"But I want to know what is going through your head..." he said. I looked out the window, at the rain hitting the garden patio outside. My mouth opened, and that was it. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't worried about what a guy would think of me, I wasn't worried about what he'd say. The flood gates had been opened, and that was it. I told him everything, about my past, my family, the bad things that had happened, why I'd lost trust in men and not for one moment did he judge me. He held my hand and listened. I realised now why I liked him so much, because he made me feel safe. I realised just how comfortable I was with him. I didn't have to worry about my appearance or how I acted because he was above all that. It was at that moment that I realised how much I appreciated him doing this all in person, and how glad I was that I made the effort to come out and see him.

Neither of us had intended to stay longer than one drink, but when he decided he needed another, I realised I did too. It was truly strange, but we'd both felt suddenly liberated and really enjoyed ourselves. It was the strangest and best breakup. We talked, laughed and poked fun at each other. It was like we were on a great date and that there were no boundaries.

We knew it couldn't last forever, but neither of us wanted it to end. As we stood in the station, looking into each other's eyes, we both knew that we wouldn't be able to forget each other. When I felt his lips against my forehead I realised that although I knew this was coming, and although I knew I wasn't going to cry, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of sadness. This beautiful person was leaving me, and we were both leaving it to fate to see what our future had in store for us. As his lips lingered against my skin, I didn't want to let go and yet I didn't want to hold onto him any longer. As we turned our seperate ways, I tried not to look back, until I saw his head turn away as he walked off. I felt a lump in my throat, but the tears never came. I hope they never do.

Remembering

My sister called me the other day for a quick chat. My 3 year old nephew recently asked my sister (his mum) when he was going to meet his uncle Mo. My sister said that he would one day. She let him busy himself with his new birthday present before going into her bedroom and cry. When she told me what he said, I couldn't help but cry myself. It broke my heart.

My brother passed away 8 years ago, he was 15 and the youngest. He died of pneumonia and heart failure. I don't think any of us have gotten over him, and we keep pictures everywhere and talk about him. It was only natural that my little nephew would ask about this person who exists around him in pictures and stories, he's going to be curious. My sister's friend said she should have explained to him that his uncle Mo was in heaven. But how do you explain that to a 3 year old?

I think it broke everyone's heart because I got an email from my mum. A friend of ours recently lost a sister, and her mother was still in a bad way about it. The mother apparently talks about the sister all the time, and really it's the best thing. People always seem to not talk about these things in case it offends the person, they don't ask questions. But what people don't understand is that you never want to forget. Yes, the memory of losing someone you love is painful. Yes, it is tough to relive those moments and those feelings, but you just don't want to let go of even those memories.

I remember sitting on the couch with my sister one afternoon, talking about my brother. It hit us that we were both scared we'd forget him. "It's like we imagined the last 15 years." we both said. It scares the hell out of you. You cling onto every memory and hope that you don't just depend on photos to remind you of who they were and what they were like. I still remember wonderful, sad and silly things about him. I remember how he used to make me laugh, annoy me and make me smile. I also remember seeing him walking around the house, bent over in pain and looking tired. I remember seeing him in that hospital bed, looking so thin and fragile, turning away from him to look out the window and cry, hoping he wouldn't see me.

I remember that wonderful last summer we were in England. How I warned him about the girls who hung around here. How we'd all walk about the neighbourhood. How we had a big party in our house back home, opening the back garden and setting it up so his friends could have fun playing video games and stuff. Him knocking on my door at night to see if I was sleeping, and not to go to bed until he slept first because he'd watched a creepy movie or played a spooky game. How he threatened a friend of ours that if she didn't stop annoying him he'd marry her, and then going on bended knee and proposing to her. Watching him laugh afterwards when she screamed and ran away crying. His naturally skinny frame. His deep voice at 15 - a smooth transition into it. His phase of having extremely long hair. His annoyed look when he saw my billboard of pictures and asking why he wasn't on it. How I made him pose against my wall in my room so I could take it (everyone had a copy of that picture now).

This wonderful person who people will no longer be able to meet. My nephew will never know just how cool and funny his uncle was. My new friends will not laugh at how much my brother will tease and annoy me. My new boyfriend/fiance/husband will not get to know how charming and friendly my brother was, or how protective he was. My children will not laugh as hard at the stories I tell of him because they were not touched by his humour like the people closest to him.

Before my brother died, he wrote a letter to his loved ones. We didn't find it until we mourned in his room. He knew he was dying and never told anyone. In it he wrote, "Live your life. Live and enjoy your life. Be good to those around you and remember God is there." Such beautiful words. to this day I always think, 15 years was not long enough. But no matter how long it is, it is never enough. I don't regret anything though. My brother knew we loved him. You just can't help but wish.

(God bless and rest his soul)

Heartbroken

It's happened, again. I allowed myself to like another person, to be with someone who makes my heart glow, puts a smile on my face, and makes me melt when they wrap their arms around me. BD and I ended things. I knew it was going to happen. It wasn't a fight, it wasn't an argument or frustration with each other, it was just us, hitting a brick wall.

I'm sitting here, telling myself I'll live. I probably will. I'll probably get a lot more work done. I'll be able to attend a lot more football games. I won't feel so bad wanting to go to parties, or wanting to take a girlfriend with me. I'll wake up tomorrow morning, get changed and go out to spend the day with a friend (although I'm actually wondering if that may fall through too). I'll go shopping anytime I want. One less birthday to think about. One less person to fuss over.

But I don't fuss over many people. He wasn't just anyone. He was someone who wanted to be let in, so I let him in. I'm not sleepy. I'm not tired. I know I won't sleep anytime soon. Why did he ask for a second chance? Why did he tell me that he wants to be friends? I don't hate him. But I know tomorrow, I'll feel hollow. I'll need to cry a little more. I'll need to hurt for a while. I knew this would happen, and I knew it was only a matter of time, but why did he ask for a second chance? Why couldn't he just have let me slip away before?

Why did I have to like this one? Why did I want to take care of him? Why did I want to craddle his head and tell him things would be ok? I didn't need to be strong on the phone, my voice never cracked as the tears ran down my cheeks.

And now... I have that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me wonder, should I have fought for him? Should I have been a little more adament and fought for him? To show him just how much I wanted him?

I don't think he understands just how heartbroken I really am about it all. He thinks he's the only one hurting, but he just doesn't realise how much I don't want to think about him right now. He sent me a message later on, telling me how he felt, and how he was proud to call me his girlfriend. I wish he didn't send it. I didn't want to know. We ended things best on the phone, I didn't want to know the last part.

I know of three people who will be happy about this, and they are three people I do not want to talk to at all these days... Well back to being my cynical, cold self - shouldn't be too hard. Right after I stop thinking about him and welling up all the time, feeling that lump rising.

Meant to be...?

When you know something isn’t meant to be, why do people go for it? You’ve seen that person so many times, you’ve smiled and been just that close to wanting to say something to them, and you bottle it. There are times when you’ve just missed them, and your heart feels a slight pang knowing that you’re not going to see them for those few minutes. Or they’re going the other way, and you see them go past you. You feel that spark of excitement for seeing them those few minutes and your smile holds on for just a little while longer.

What would you do if you finally met, finally got to know each other and you find that person to be so much better than you expected. That their smile makes you blush and want to reach out and stroke their face. When they look concerned you want to know what’s going through their mind and make them feel better. When they laugh, you act silly or tell a silly joke just to listen to them chuckle because it makes your heart melt. Your lip quivers when you watch them close their eyes as you stroke their face. When your arm is free you reach out to them, just to touch them, wrap your arm around them, or just stroke their body reassuringly, but it’s only reassuringly for you, because you know that they like you. You’re able to understand their crispy dry humour, and start loving the way they tell a small, quiet joke or one liner. You enjoy watching them walk around a kitchen and look at you wondering what you’re thinking. You get into the habit of wrapping your arms around them from behind whenever they’re sitting down. You just want to touch them because they feel nicer under your finger tips.

Your heart melts when you watch them close their eyes under your touch.
Your heart skips a beat when they bring your fingertips to their lips and lightly kiss them.
When by the fourth/fifth date (because we’re still not sure if we’re going to call our first proper conversation a first date) you are just content to sit together and listen to mellow music and allow time to pass – even though it passes way too quickly and you wish it would just stop because you just don’t want that bliss to end. You close your eyes and for those 8 hours the world disappears.

What would you do? Would you hold onto that bliss for as long as you could? How long would you hold onto it? You know it isn’t going to hang around forever. If you knew that your heart would be broken in the end and that you’d be hurt, would you still put yourself through it? Would you still want to see what would happen when you both know that it can’t really be a happy ending for either of you?

Everything becomes just that much more painfully beautiful because each moment you spend together could be your last. As melodramatic as that sounds, it’s so true. You know it’s a slow death and you’d rather a swift execution. One of you is going to be the stronger one and end it, do the sensible thing and save the other from a greater pain. I’ve been told to control my feelings, to not allow myself to get too involved, but how can you do that? You can only do that with people who you don’t really like that much… but....... I finally meet a person who doesn't play with my mind. I don't have to 'try and read', I know what I see, it's there. I don't have to guess at what he's thinking or what he thinks of me because it's there.

He never cared for anything until I came along. Two years we had been watching each other and wanting one another. I turned it around for him. He says I’ll be sorry for that, he may be joking, but we both know how true those words will be in future.

Question is, do I break both our hearts now and save us from a greater heartache?