Messin'

He actually accused me of messin' with him?! You dumped me! You rejected me! Then you continue to call me...so yea I am messin' with you.

I recently read Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  It is one of the best non-fiction works I've read.  I underlined a lot of it. I posted many quotes on my Facebook & gchat statues. But the one passage I love the most is this:

"I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his hightest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the hightest potential of a man, rather than the man himself and then I have hung onto the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism."

Amen sister!

She Said I Prefer a Broken Neck

First Line:
"She said that she would prefer a broken neck to another broken heart."
She Said I Prefer a Broken Neck by Amir Sulaiman

When I first read this poem I cried and I cried because I had preferred something much worse than a broken neck. I had...hell have...been considering suicide as a relief. An accidental broken neck (a stumble down the stair) would be a weight lifted. There would be no judgment, no stigma, just a simple accident that would end a complex suffering.

Her Heart

And as you cried in my arms
You woke up my heart
And I saw again what I found in you
Cuz her heart, her heart wont let me lose her
No matter how I try
I just can´t say goodbye and lose her
---Chorus to "Her Heart" by Anthony Hamilton

This song spoke to me. When I first heard it I looked for it on YouTube so that I could play it over and over and over. And I did. I often get into these obsessive loops with songs or poems. I listen for comfort mainly.

Her Heart told me all kinds of sweet lies, or at least now I've come to think of them as lies. It told me that all I had to do was love enough. All I had to do was hang in and he'd discover that I was always there for him. It didn't tell me how long the crying would last. It didn't tell me how painful waiting would be. But it convinced me that one day my waiting and tears would be rewarded, a tale that I was already thought was true.

Then one day, while I was in the mist of dragging myself out of love, I thought of my heart. I picture it not as the organ or the shape but that empty void that encompasses the center of my chest. And I think about my heart as her heart...and how tired this woman (who until then I thought was me) must have been. And how awful those tears must have felt. And how when his heart woke her heart was so near tired of the fight.

I wanted to create a blog that was just about my feelings on love. I wanted it to be anonymous. I wanted it to be as real as my diary. Or even more so because I can say whatever I want. I can rage or cry or scream without fear of judgement because even if someone were to stumble across this tiny blog in this immense internet they would never know me. I am my own PostSecret.

I'll start with a simple explanination of the name of this blog. Not for anyone but to remind myself. Her Heart is from an Anthony Hamilton song (by the same name) and Prefer a Broken Heart come from a poem by Amir Sulaiman (called "She Said I'd Prefer A Broken Neck)