My Wishes For NV....

....the week before her wedding.

As fiercely as I cling on to my old friends, I’ve come to learn that it’s possible to love the new ones just as much, and want the very best for them always: whether or not you know all their history, their journey, their mistakes and their triumphs.

I can’t lay much of a claim to knowing what true romantic love is all about, and descriptions and best wishes and sweeping hand gestures (that ALWAYS knock over a few wine glasses) don’t seem to do the emotion justice. And marriage – well, never had a clue, doubt I ever will, so how can I know what wishes I’m bestowing on this friend of mine? However, Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet XVII has always seemed to be the best way to put a voice to my ineloquence. From the moment I first read it, I thought “That’s what I want someday,” even if the thoughts were half-formed and shooed away as wistful and longing. But, for the people who have found that love….

So, for you, NV:

“I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
Or arrow of carnations that propagate fire;
I love you as certain dark things are loved:
Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries
Hidden within itself the light from those flowers;
And, thanks to your love, darkly
In my body lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where;
I love you simply: without problems or pride.
I love you in this way because I know no other way of loving

But this: in which there is no I or you.
So close that your hand upon my chest is my hand;
So close, that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.”

I hope your love, your wedding, your marriage, and the life after is all of this, and so much more. All the very very best to you and AM :)

Apparently I Was One Of Those Angsty Teenagers

My God, I could not be a BIGGER cliche. How disappointing. Looking through my old stories (Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger fanfiction, how I miss thee), I came across a poem I had written at the ripe old age of 19. It positively drips with love scorned and world-weariness. Sheesh. How pretentious we are at that age, how we think we know EVERYTHING and have been through EVERYTHING and NO!ONE!UNDERSTANDS! I'm quite embarrassed by it, actually!

Of course, chances are I'm going to stumble across this blog post in 10 years' time and think the same thing :)

For anyone who cares, here's the melodramatic goodness:

Waiting and hoping,

Watching and praying;

Replaying the words

Of the rubbish you were saying

To make me forgive you,

To make the lies true;

To make me forget

My trust in you.

Mumbling and cursing,

Smiling and rehearsing

My most genuine fake smile

To keep your lips from pursing

At how childish I'm being;

How naive I am for not seeing

Through the half-truths you told me

To keep me from leaving

When I could have walked without getting hurt;

When I could have left without feeling like dirt:

Walked all over by you

Like I'm not even worth

A proper kiss,

Or a promise you'll miss

All that we had

All eternity, then this:

Nothing.