I have been madly in love with a 31-year-old man since the day we first met last June when I was 17.

We still talk. We still fuck. We still make love too.

We also still drink compulsively together and insult each other to save ourselves.

We didn't talk for 6 months. Then I went to his house one night at 2am. My excuse: I was sloppy drunk. I sat down, smiled like I just saw him yesterday and didn't say a word until I managed to fumble a cigarette and lighter into my hand. I sucked as hard as I could and exhaled the culmination of every toxic feeling I've ever felt for him, filling his living room with the acrid smoke of my twisted desires.

He doesn't love me. Oh, but he wants to be with me. I'd marry him. We both know it's just casual sex. He wants to marry me. I'd quit school and bear his children if he just asked.

We talk. We fuck. We make love.

We drink.
We drink.
We drink.

We're drinking because we want to be together; we simply can't because of the age difference.
We're drinking because we hate each other; we're mourning the loss of the person we thought the other was.

We talk politics. We talk society. We talk culture. We talk life. We talk books. We talk about how he doesn't read books. We talk about far-away, exotic places that he frequents. We talk about how he will take me some day.

We fuck. We make love.

We tell each other we love each other.

We talk about how it will never work. We talk about how it has never worked.

... we talk about him coming to visit me at university, an hour and a half away. I think about how much I would love to see him. I imagine how much he wants to see me too. I wonder if he's serious. Does he really love me? Or is he that desperate?

The first night I visited him after the hiatus, I tried to leave after smoking four cigarettes consecutively and trying to avoid his seductive gaze. He missed me.

He told me that if I left, I would be the most terrible booty-call.

He said it because he wanted to strike a nerve and get me to stay; he missed my company. He said it because it never was anything more than just sex. He said it because it couldn't be anything more than just sex.

If he came here,
we would talk. We would fuck. We would make love. We would make brain-numbing, leg-shaking, air-gasping, neck-kissing, wake-all-the-housemates, hold-you-so-tight-I-can't-let-go, stuck-together-with-sweat-and-cum love where we stay up for hours afterwards. I run my fingers through his chest hair, as he tucks the long locks from my head behind my ears.

We cuddle, compliment, rinse, repeat.

We realize how perfect we are together. We tell ourselves we're stupid for even wishing that thought.

We lay in bliss, intertwined. We make witty remarks. We laugh. We re-light the candles and doodle on each other's warm bare skin with our finger tips.

We think about how there will never be a 'we'.

... I wonder why he has never mentioned an ex. What do the women his age can see that I don't? I'm still too young and naive to truly believe that he is waiting for me. I think that he still his anyway.

I know he is trying to think the same thing to so we can keep playing this fucked up game.

I can't help but feeling myself get hot, still, every time a motorcycle speeds past. It reminds me of him.

It reminds me of how perfect I make him out to be.

There's something about that feeling you get, speeding down the middle of a four-lane road in the middle of the night on two wheels with a beautiful, mysterious older man whom you've just met. Our first date consisted of talking for hours on a blanket on the beach under a full moon, followed by rolling around snogging in the sand while piss-fucking-drunk on red wine. In that moment, racing at 100km/h down the centre yellow line, clinging with all my might onto his perfect, strong, protective body as you're both shit-faced, you realize something. You realize that you could die. You realize that everything you've ever worked hard for, every bout of depression, eating disorders, panic attacks that you've ever fought through have been for nothing. You realize your parents will sob and your brother will hate you even more than he already does. You realize your little sister will never forgive you for leaving her.

You realize how much you love life.

I realized that I could be smoked by a tanker at the next red light we sped through. My body wouldn't even be recognizable. I was already picturing the headlines.

But, I realized how important it was to love life.

If you're not willing to die in a moment, why are you willing to live in it?

He taught me that life is precious. That I am precious. That what we had was sacred. He taught me not to over-think things. He taught me to be myself and to love myself.

He also taught me that I have daddy-issues, but who doesn't?

He taught me that love is possible, but infatuation is even more dangerous.

He taught me that no matter how old you get, life still doesn't make sense.

So I have stopped trying.

We talk. We fuck. We make love.

We know how ambiguous this all is.

We still love each other.
We still hate each other.
We still drink.

We still live in a fairy tale world, hoping for a happily ever after.

She spat in my face, called me a slut, and told me I deserved it.

I was UNCONSCIOUS.

It'll Never Be The Same

I've never been so wrong. I've never felt so bad. I am so fucking sorry.

Drowning.

I'm praying that I'm sick, because then it's possible to be cured.

Tomorrow, Today will be Yesterday.

Today we have higher buildings and wider highways, but shorter temperments and narrower points of view.
We spend more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses, but smaller families. We have more compromises, but less time. We have more knowledge, but less judgement. We have more medicines, but less health.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk much, we love only a little, and we hate too much.
We reached the moon and came back, but we find it troublesome to cross our own street and meet our neighbors. We have conquered the outer space, but not our inner space.
We have higher income, but less morals… These are times with more liberty, but less joy… With much more food, but less nutrition…
These are days in which two salaries come home, but divorces increase. These are times of finer houses, but more broken homes.
That’s why I propose that as of today -- You do not keep anything for a special occasion, because every day that you live is a special occasion. Search for knowledge, read more, sit on your front porch and admire the view without paying attention to the needs. Pass more time with your family, eat your favorite food, visit the place you love. Life is a chain of moments of enjoyment; it isn’t only survival.
Use your crystal goblets. Do not save your best perfume… wear it until it's gone! Take out from your vocabulary phrases like, “one of these days” and “someday”. Write that letter that you were going to get around to “one of these days”.
Tell everyone important in your life how much you love them. Never pass up a chance at adding laughter and joy to your life. Every day, hour, and minute are special… Don't let them waste away.

I didn't write this, but I wanted to have some record of it.