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It started out with a smile.
I didn't even noticed it until the fourth time it happened. He had just walked by, said hi to me, and left, when my friend asked me
"Why are you smiling?"
"Oh," I said. Surprised. "Nothing." And I turned my head down when I felt the smile come again.
The next time he said hi to me, I felt butterfly's wings tickling my stomach. Especially since his deep green eyes stared into mine for a second too long.
I spent the minutes together blissfully unaware of them and the minutes apart longing for the next moment I could stare into that hypnotic green again.
His laugh filled my ears and his accidental brushes against my arm left a current that I could feel for days and days.
His texts felt like a magic world, hidden from the eyes of the rest of them. Our own private Narnia was taking shape out of deep conversations and good night wishes.
And then.
He kissed me.
He closed his eyes and leaned into me. We were sitting in his parked car in front of my house. He was dropping me off after an afternoon at the mall with some friends. He offered to take me home.
I had both my hands resting in the middle of our seats and he undid his seat belt so he could reach out and brush my face with his though fingers.
The moment our lips met, the world around me collapsed and I knew nothing would ever be the same.
His lips tasted like beer and mine probably tasted of white wine. He moved with a rhythmic pace that melted my insides. The only sensation that was holding me in that moment was his nearly shaven beard brushing against my face. What a weird but hot feeling that was.
When he pulled away, I was gasping for air.
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 2 months
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Some empties are not meant to be filled.
Some empties I feel are not meant to be mine.
Some of my empties are no longer empty.
But empties are empties and they're empty still.
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 4 months
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I will never understand why he made me tell him,
if he already knew.
Part of me hoped his answer would match mine, and everything would be for good.
But it didn't.
I never understood why he wanted my confirmation for something so obvious in my eyes. In everyone's eyes.
It's a thought that everybody had before I did. A question that everybody asked even before the feelings were there.
It's the plot to every rom com made.
That's what we were.
Harry and Sally
Matt and Jenna
Tom and Hannah
Castle and Beckett
Lisbon and Patrick
Luke and Lorelai
But no. We weren't.
And I still don't understand why he made me say those words to him.
Ego, perhaps.
I should thank my younger self, really
For downplaying as a simple innocent crush, what in truth was a deeper, much more anchored feeling.
I only let him see the very tip of the iceberg.
That, and my cold heart.
For freezing over when I need it to.
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 5 months
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Miro las fotos y videos y pienso
Que bonito sería...
Pero solo a la gente bonita
Le pasan cosas bonitas.
Y yo...
No soy bonita.
-izquierda
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 6 months
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Is it wrong of me to like him just because he has your name?
Because if your name
Is the only thing yours I can have.
I'll take it.
- left
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 6 months
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I feel annoyed.
Annoyed at your inevitable presence.
Annoyed at the melodic sound of your voice when you talk about the things you love.
Annoyed at the way you easily move the conversation your way. That magnetism that drives all our friends to you.
I'm annoyed at your way of making everything sound serious.
You annoy me.
The way you notice everything. Even little things. The way you ask as if you don't care, but months later, you still remember my favorite drink.
But above all. These butterflies annoy me. The ones fluttering in my stomach when you look at me.
So annoying.
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 11 months
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Estoy cansada de estar sola
Cansada de tener que despertarme cada mañana y obligarme a creer que es posible.
Estoy cansada de que la esperanza se pudra antes de que algo suceda y este rodeada de mosquitos que persiguen el dulce olor a algo que no fue. Nunca fui buena en tener que tirarla a la basura y limpiarme los restos que se quedan pegados en las paredes.
Estoy cansada de no ser suficiente. De no sentirme suficiente. Cansada de los tal vez en mi cabeza. Tal vez si voy más al gym. Tal vez si me maquillo diferente. Tal vez si escucho otro tipo de música. Tal vez si no uso tenis al salir, o si no tomo tanta cerveza, o si tomo más o si hablo menos o más o...
Estoy harta. Harta de que mi corazón siga siendo tan positivo. Harta de que me mire con esos ojitos que me derriten y me diga pero tal vez si.
No. Tal vez nada.
La respuesta es no.
La respuesta siempre es no y la esperanza siempre termina oxidada y con mosquitos. Muriendo con cada una de mis respiraciones.
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only-one-hand-is-mine · 11 months
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That's the idiotic funny part about this.
That I actually thought it could happen.
When I knew it wasn't going to.
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From time to time, somebody asks a question.
And I think
He could've answered that.
And I'm convinced he could.
But he's not here.
And it doesn't hurt anymore.
And I don't have the urge to mention it. To say I knew somebody once, who would've had that answer at the tip of their tongue.
Because that's who you are now.
Not mine.
Not the love of my life.
Not my friend.
Just someone who would've known.
Someone who I once knew.
-left
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Do you like me as much as I like you?
Sometimes it feels you do.
Sometimes, it feels like were dancing the same tango.
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Hey Tumblr, it's me, left hand.
I come to you frustrated.
Irritated.
Sensitive.
That's what Sunday afternoons do to me.
Today especially since I come back from a week off.
I don't want to go to work tomorrow. And not because I need more rest or because I don't want to drive. It has nothing to do with traffic or waking up at 5 a.m. I don't want to go to work because my boss doesn't like me. My coworkers don't like me. There are rumors about me and they look at me like I'm a walking disaster.
I try so hard to make it work. But it makes me feel like that 13 year old girl they bullied in middleschool. Like the punchline of the joke.
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Say I don't like you
but I can't stop staring at
your lips. Wondering.
- left hand
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I won't say it. Not again.
I won't let my lips form the words, I won't acknowledge the butterflies. I'll deny any evidence and pretend it doesn't exist.
I'll make sure my heart knows it is not okay to fall so fast. So stupidly. So ignorantly.
I can't fall again until I see traces of butterflies in his eyes. Until I hear it from his lips.
-left
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I can feel it.
The beginning of something.
The slow life of the caterpillars in my stomach.
Turning into butterflies.
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If my life was more like a movie, my back would've been pressed against a wall today, while the strong smell of you crawled its way into the fabric of my cardigan. I would not have seen it come, but it would've happened just the same.
- excerpt from a longer story that lives rent free in my brain.
- left
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Hoy hace un año estuve a punto de darte algo.
Dos palabras.
Dos palabras que me daban miedo decirte, porque me aterraba sentirlas.
Y aquella noche fría de navidad, mientras te susurraba al oído por el teléfono, pensé en que era el mejor regalo que podía hacerte.
Y las dos palabras no salieron de mis labios.
No porque no las sintiera, sino porque había un sentimiento más grande que no dejaba que salieran.
Dejé que me ganara el miedo y perdí la oportunidad de decirte te amo.
Y me arrepiento de no haberlo echo en un momento en donde eramos felices.
Cuando al fin te dije te amo, ya no era un regalo, si no una despedida.
Te amo y adiós.
Hoy hace un año te amaba.
Hoy creo que ya no. Digo creo, porque todavía descubro en mis dedos el deseo de escribirte de vez en cuando. Y mi imaginación sigue haciendo listas de todo lo que no hice contigo.
- izquierda
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I need that.
I need the difficult-to-breathe moment.
The drunk-in-love moment.
The we're-the-only-two-people-in-the-world moment.
The nose against nose.
Lips pressing lips.
Tongue pushing tongue.
Sharing the same air.
Drunk in you moment in an Italian village at night.
Nothing but the stars and the moon and us.
-left
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