Not so perfect

Love, ah me.

Being in love is the greatest feeling on earth. Like you didn't know that. You know it. The fuzzy wuzzy funnies in your tummy. The I-can't-wait-to-touch-him-again feeling. Being in love makes you do irrational things. You'd buy him seven pairs of socks just so he's got one for every day of the week. You'd fake an illness for a hot session in bed. You'd tell your friends you've gone back to your hometown when you're actually in bed together for the whole time then tell your workmates how fantastically boring it was back there it was that you didn't know why you balik kampung in the first place.

Being in love makes you lie. ~chuckles~ makes you steal time, cheat death and run up a thousand dollar phone bill.






Then the rhythm sets in, you're home, he's not. He's home, you're too tired to layan him. The laundry piles up and you wonder where the heck your mad money went to. The very things that made you crazy for him is driving you mad. The way he walks, the way he talks in front of friends, the way he always wants things for him on his terms.

"You're in love, that's the way, it should be, and I want you to be happy...."

You get used to each other then the"in" part of being in love drops out and hopefully you still love each other. Love each other enough to be together and live out your dreams. Love each other enough to look past the not-so-perfect things you and him have intrinsically. Love each other enough to be truthful to each other. Sometimes love each other enough to let go.

"What is love? baby don't hurt me, no more..."

Though things are not-so-perfect, he still loves you. You still love him. Maybe you should brave the storm together because you've got each other bad or good, weak or strong, rich or poor.

It's a good thing that they lgalised gay marriages in the UK, then people would think twice about just breaking it and going on a sex-spree because "it's not like we're married or anything" . This thing is called responsibility. Taxes, paying the rent, mopping up vomit, picking up the dirty underwear, cleaning out the sink, buying the groceries...

Maybe I'm just a traditionalist... my parents don't believe in divorce, neither do I.....



Maybe I'm just in denial because I am being used.



Maybe I just need a good fuck to get over it all.



Maybe I just need him.....

Meanwhile I'll just hang in there.

~chuckles~

~sighs~