Hope Dies Last

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’ve been carrying some baggage lately. I worked hard to get it because I spent the entire winter eating my weight in nuts and lollipops. As a result, I haven’t been in the mood to go shopping for Kyla Roma’s Six Months/Six Dresses challenge. But, I am still taking part because a) I’m not a quitter and b) I’ve got plenty of dresses already.

May’s Dress [Left]

I bought this dress two summer’s ago on sale from a small boutique in Athens. Since then, I’ve worn it a handful of times, most notably on my first date with my most recent ex. When I took it out to wear again at the end of May, all the memories came rushing back. This dress reminds me of all that potential I felt back then and I felt sad in it all day. (Hence the ridiculously solemn face in the picture) I chose to wear it again in June for a cocktail party and thankfully all the memories attached to it are beginning to fade.  Now, when I look at it it is not my First Date Dress but the dress that made a certain gentleman ask a certain bride-to-be about me. Now, it’s my Who is that Girl Dress.

June’s Dress [Right]

I bought this purple, silk dress on sale from Donna Karan three years ago. The first time I wore it was this past Friday to a wedding. So, it technically does count as a ‘new’ dress. (If I bend the rules slightly). While, I have always loved the colour purple I don’t wear it an awful lot because I don’t understand what colours match with it. The internet suggested gold or silver which I vetoed immediately because I thought it was boring and expected. Instead, I chose a blue-green peep toe. The wedding itself was beautiful. The food was exceptional (Mushroom risotto? Yum), the music was fun (We danced all night!) and the mood was merry. But it was the location that reminded me of the reason I love living in the southern suburbs of Athens: the ubiquitous, yet silent presence of that sea.

But back to my earlier, more important point. Do you name your dresses too?

I doubt this list needs an introduction. But secret single behaviours are those quirky, weird, embarrassing habits we all develop after living alone for some time. These are some of mine.

• Watch a time-wasting show (like One Tree Hill) and pluck the stray hairs on my legs. (I feel the same satisfaction as I did at my university graduation when I find and have to remove an ingrown).

• Eat Chinese takeout in bed while testing my celebrity knowledge on People.com

• Pretend to have a captivated audience when I cook.

• Channel Taylor Swift in her You Belong With Me video and do goofy dances in my bedroom (Hairbrush as microphone is a MUST)

• Rearrange something in one room of my house every week

• Without fail, check the progress of my eye wrinkles in the bathroom mirror after a shower. (Smile. Solemn face. Smile. Solemn Face. Smile. Solemn Face.)

• Secretly love, watch and cry during every movie set in a high school ever. (Do you have any favourites you can recommend?)

• Take obnoxious self-portraits on my Mac before going out.

• Facebook stalk until my hand is numb.

• Facebook stalk until I am convinced that every single person on earth is living a much better life than I am.

• Ask my cat questions. (For example, ‘Do you think he’s going to call? OK, fine. If you think he’s going to call, just sit there staring at me.’

What are your secret single behaviours?

It is July and I’m nervous.

I’m waiting for him to kiss me. I’ve read his palm. I’ve already traced my finger down his life line and accidentally felt his pulse.  We both know it is going to happen because for the last two hours, all we can see are lips. He takes a sip of beer and puts down his glass. I pick it up and imitate him. The beer is cold and bitter but as I swallow I bite my bottom lip and it goes down sweet.  He moves next to me. Kiss me, I think and he does.

I finally exhale and blow a stifled breath into him. When our eyes open, I expect to see my own relief reflected back at me. Instead I see hunger.

It surprises me. Wait, I’m not there yet. He leans in again and kisses me again and this time his hands are touching my body in places we don’t talk about with the lights on. Wait, I’m not there yet.  I put my hands into his; here touch these instead.

‘Why are you being so coy?’ he growls.

I fall back, away from him. His words don’t scare me. It’s his eyes. They’ve fogged up; he’s not looking at me clearly. I’m disappointed. Wait. I don’t want this tonight.

‘Your body seems to want it’, he says as he kisses me again. My eyes stay closed but my legs open. 

No, no, no. I scream to myself. Don’t want me for this. I want you to wait. It feels like a split second decision but it takes twenty minutes. I’m there, lying on the floor, but I’m not in my body. I don’t have to force myself to kiss him, because all I want is a kiss, but  my hands are not my hands. They’re touching, grabbing, unbuttoning, pushing, pulling. Is this what you want? I challenge.

‘Let’s go upstairs’, he says.

‘No.’

I don’t want it to be like every other time; I don’t want to be another woman in his bed. Instead I become another woman on his floor.

I want to wait. I don’t want this to happen now.

But it does.

***

Last year, I didn’t love myself enough to believe that if I told him to wait, he would, and then still want me. Have you ever given in to the moment because you were afraid that if you didn’t, the moment would never come again?

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?