Hope Dies Last

…trust without being given a reason to trust first.

…believe in the literal meaning of words flung together and whispered across naked skin.

…look for answers in the night; particularly when my eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness yet.

…hope that I would be missed. Eventually.

…forget about the past.

…envy a life I would never want for myself.

…expect nothing. (Even a null expectation is an expectation.)

…compromise my wants and needs for a roaming hand on my bare thigh.

…like it.

…resist writing about all this fire inside me.

…think I had nothing to say.

Your turn. I should know better than to…?

I own a pair of plastic shoes. With metal studs.

(Yes, before you ask, I was possessed.)

Nothing else can possibly explain this:

To be fair, I have never worn them. It appears I only practice good judgment after I have handed over my credit card. (Um…Reason #3, 488 I’m still single?)

Do you have any items in your closet that cause you to pause and say, ‘What the hell was I thinking?’

Your weekend project is to crawl into your wardrobe, find your tackiest pair of shoes, accessories, clothes WHATEVER and then head over to the Hope Dies Last Facebook Page here and upload your photo in the super, cool album I’ve aptly titled ‘WTF?!’

Let’s share in mutual embarrassment, shall we?

…I’d start by flipping it the right way up; it’s been upside down for way too long.  (Better Off Ted was cancelled and Two and a Half Men is still on the air? Seriously?)

…it would be compulsory for talented, ambitious, hard workers to have actual, paying jobs.

…gentle, well intentioned, well timed honesty would be held to a higher esteem than comfortable, easy to handle lies.

…women that pretend to be dumb to get ahead would be locked up.

…men that pretend to want a relationship to get laid, would join them. (Y’all can procreate together.)

…we would travel by teleportation.

…the unattached would wear rings. (I think we are the ones that need to recognize each other far more than marrieds do.)

…there would be fines for those who do not reply to text messages, emails and phone calls. (I’d be über fair though. The statute of limitations on this would be one year.)

…pink shirts on straight men would be illegal; punishable by public mocking.

…witty, devilish, intelligent, sarcastic, responsible, available men would have NO CHOICE but to be insanely attracted to me.

What would you do if you ruled the world?

(Inspired by Stacy over at Chasing Paradise)

He left me….

…while laughing.

…a sea shell. A common shell that once lived with its other half somewhere in the dark.  He gave it to me on our second date. He was the one that could dive deep into the sea with his eyes open;  whereas I floated on the top blindly squinting in the sunlight.

…confused. On the Friday, he had said, ‘This is a serious relationship, right?’ and on the Monday it was over.

…with one question. Wait, why did we break up?

…guarded. I am finding it increasingly difficult to believe the words and the actions of men.

…and I am stronger now.

He left me…

…a hot pink and black scarf from his travels.

…a copy of  ‘The Painted Veil’

…with a huge crush on Will Shortz.

…with hundreds of archived emails that still make me smile.

…with a new friend.

…and I am smarter now.

He left me…

…because we didn’t have another choice.

…with petals of lies in his wake that I still find scattered wherever I walk.

…a cocktail umbrella.

…thinking that all men really need to be much taller than me.

…and I am braver now.

He left me…

…for another country.

…convinced that in order to be loved I needed to fundamentally change who I am. (Thankfully, he left and I let him.)

…broken. (But I built myself back up beautifully.)

…with an intense need to be a writer.

…a delicious chocolate cake recipe.

…and I am so thankful for it.

He left me…

He left me…

…on my eleventh year.

…his last pack of cigarettes.

…fatherless.

…an intense fear of knives.

…his temperament. Quiet, studious, wise and impatient of fools, liars and bigots.

…and I survived.

What have the ones who have left, left you?

(Idea stolen from the ethereal Alexia at Say Another Lexi)

I make general and derogatory statements about men all the time.

Today, over coffee, I was on a rampage. When I paused for a moment, and listened to the words I was using, I felt like an idiot. I was being unfair. Sure, men can sometimes be weak. They can act in ways that disappoint me. They’re so rational that it drives me to be over-emotional.  But I don’t hate them. I kind of heart them. A lot.

I love them when…

…they’re wearing a pair of Converse sneakers.

…their jeans are slightly baggy and their boxers peek out.

…they are not afraid to smile back at me when I’m walking away.

…when they show emotion.

…they finally understand that in acknowledging weakness, they automatically become the strongest man in any room.

…their hair is short and spiky.

…they you use technical MAN words that I do not understand.

…they patiently explain them to me (But if they’re condescending about it, I hate them.)

…they wear layered t-shirts.

…they let me help them.

…they make me laugh by pretending their belly is their alter ego called ”Hans”.

…they do something right, they do it right.

When do you love men?