illdefinition

[illdefinition]

Pure Idiot Mystery

George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.” And for me, I think you were both.

From that October evening I met you, you were - for some mysterious reason, one that I could never quite explain to myself - my heart’s greatest desire. My friends questioned me several times as to why I liked you, and not once in two and a half years was I able to answer it. I don’t know why or how, but in the most inexplicable and ill-defined manner, you were my heart’s desire.

But after that almost magical - if such a thing actually exists - night, you pushed me away. And every single similarly breathtaking moment spent together since had the same consequence. You pushed me away. I yearned for you lie next to me and tell me about your dreams, for you to sit on the counter and gush about your favourite music as I make us dinner. Instead, every single time, you pushed me away. And I let you.

You once told me that I have such an intense effect on you. Hearing you say that sucked me right back into a world of insatiable and almost sacred intoxication where I saw you in everything, and wanted to just be there for you, in whatever capacity. But you never let me, and that would have been fine because it’s your prerogative, if you didn’t suck me back in every few months. 

I think Flannery O’Connor said it best, “there were times when it became nothing but pure idiot mystery.” That’s what I felt for you, pure idiot mystery. Even after I let you sink your teeth in the most tender of places that left scars, I felt pure idiot mystery. It was idiotic because I’m not sure I know you too well, it was mysterious because I’m not that kind of a person who writes about her feelings for someone she doesn’t really know, but it was divine, unadulterated, and selfless, and that made it pure.

I felt that pure idiot mystery until I you pushed away for the nth time and I realised you were never going to meet me halfway. It felt like you ripped my heart out from my chest; bare hands pulling out a wet and bloody heart with a brutal vigour. I often recall you telling me I have such an intense effect on you. And it makes my wild heart bleeds for you so much that it physically hurts, because that didn’t seem to matter, I still wasn’t enough for you.

“There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it.”

#creative writing #writeblr #original writing #spilled prose #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #love letter #pure idiot mystery #george bernard shaw #flannery o'connor #writerwednesday #amwriting #im just trying to explain my heartbreak to myself

[illdefinition]

It gets to me, you know. Knowing that I’m cool enough to have a fun evening with, hot enough to have sex with later that night, but never good enough to stay the morning after, it gets to me sometimes.

— Things to Admit to Myself #1, K.B.

#writing #creative writing #writeblr #original writing #spilled prose #the admissions

[illdefinition]

I think there’s a thin line between unconditionally showering love and affection onto someone, and being just slightly scared I’ll never be on the receiving end of it.

— Reminders to Myself #2, K.B.

#it's OK to feel bad sometimes!!!! #writing #creative writing #writeblr #original writing #the reminders #note to self

[illdefinition]

Romantic love isn’t inevitable. No, I don’t think. Romantic love is real, beautiful, and can happen several times with different people, each varying in intensity. But that doesn’t mean it happens to everyone. And I want to be just fine without having romantic love in my life.

— Reminders to myself #1, K.B.

#writing #writeblr #creative writing #spilled prose #the reminders #note to self