Every kiss from him in that frozen moment was an apology. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never appreciate you. I’m sorry I’m not a better person. I’m sorry for all that I’ve done. I’m sorry for all that I’m going to do.
Young Wife: A Monologue.
She was a pretty little thing. Thick wonderful waves of black hair, perfect teeth and a tiny waist… no wonder he couldn’t distract himself. Somewhere in this child he saw a woman; he saw something that I couldn’t possibly envision, not in her. To be that age again, so tender and infatuated, a time when naivety ruled the realm. I’d fall for his lies and sweet talk any day. I’ve never felt so stupid. Not stupid for staying with him, but stupid for being so blind. Maybe I’m still controlled by my naivety more than I realized. The lies and deception were no competition for my outright denial. He loved me, and that was that. Hurt or none, I could sweep it under the rug and save it for another day. I had to desperately grasp at that small fact - he loved me, so the rest was impossible. He picked me. If I would’ve opened my eyes for once, I would’ve seen what was in front of me all along; the facade of an innocent relationship between my soulmate and this sweet sixteen. She was a self-pitying, scheming, manipulating, tortured, ‘poor mistreated beaten soul’… yet at the same time she was a poetic dreamer, an artist, a singer, conveniently interested in everything that composed his character - and she simply could not wait for him to sweep her off of her feet. And sweep, he did. He showered her with compliments and left me cold. He breathed on her neck and shuddered at my touch. When he told her she was beautiful, he never noticed my new dress. He admired her depth, yet he couldn’t see beyond its blinding reflection. I’ve never felt so stupid. Stupid for staying with him, stupid for tolerating his obviously ill intentions towards that ignorant child. But the smartest thing I did? I walked away.
A hello to my new followers;
Thanks for following my blog! Sorry for not writing as much, most of my posts will more than likely be done on whim. So, apologies in advance as well.
I will remain anonymous for the duration of this blog. How long I keep it alive, only time will tell.
ALSO: feel free to leave messages or ask my questions. I love to give advice when able :)
In 2012 I learned what a good friend is… and what a good friend is not.
A good friend will respect boundaries. A good friend will not disregard your feelings to get whatever she wants. A good friend will be more than a fair weather friend. A good friend will accept you, even if you don’t fit into her white-picket-fence-perfect-world.
And you were not a good friend. But that’s what 2013 is for… letting go.
You are the moon.
Halo in the stars
disguising your face.
Lady under pale beams
reflection on the water;
You are the moon.
The anonymity is too much to resist.
Before I start seriously blogging on here… I have something to admit: I am a compulsive liar.
I’ve never admitted that to anyone before. It’s part of the reason I consider myself a good writer… I can make up just about anything.
But it’s something I desperately want to change in order to become a better person.
Why the name, “Hard Honey”?
I most closely associate hard honey with sugar spun honey - milky in appearance, sweet, pliable. But once it crystallizes, it becomes solid and immovable. How do you soften something once it becomes unresponsive?
The simple answer? Patience and time. The traditional way to soften hardened honey is to set the jar in a bowl of warm water… and wait. Speeding up the process in any way will destroy the taste and texture of the honey. But if you’re willing to trust the process and witness the transformation… it is so incredibly worth it.
So that’s what this is, or what I am; hard honey. This blog is an attempt at chronicling my transformation into the woman I want to become. My mind is unsettled and full of ideas - this is the place I’ve decided to trust them to.