1/6/18

I never really admit what I want for myself, especially when it comes to being with someone and what I hope to have with them. I don’t admit that I want that quaint kitchen to cook meals with them, small living room with an L-shaped sofa in front of a medium-sized TV. I’ve always imagined what my life would be like with someone. It was something I’ve always wanted. I’ve never had it written down anywhere, never had a small sketch even. As if I am too terrified of it never coming true. If I don’t have it anywhere in black and white, it doesn’t exist, it’s not real. I will remain that girl that can be alone, that can have her own life and not need anyone because what good is there to have someone constantly around?

This is one of the second time where I am screaming it to the skies (or rather the ceilings of the this box called a blog) that I do want a life with someone. I want it so bad that it brings me pain because I know it is and will remain to be a dream. 

The first time I said it out loud to myself and to someone was when I was playing the questions game with her. I asked her what her ideal life would be like. She described apartments, the number of pets, where it would be and the ideal partner. I didn’t intend to answer the question myself because I never thought people would be interested. However, she was. She asked and I cannot help but completely be warmed by the genuineness in her reciprocation. I started out stating that I wanted to live in apartments or condos. Then, mental pictures of living rooms, kitchens, work room are slowly painted with every descriptions that I could give her. The more I described it, the more the ache in my chest throbbed against my ribcage.

I want it. I want it all. So bad. I cannot see anyone wanting this with me. Not even when I see it with them.