Just Mary

  Everyone recommends writing things down, they say it  helps give one clarity”. I hate writing things down,it is too close to accepting  defeat. It is a seal of everything, it is an  end for me, it is too final_it happened and now it has ended-The End. Whilst when it stays in mind, intertwined with my thoughts, it is just there floating endlessly, open. I don’t want it to end, I don’t accept that it has ended.  He sits on the edge of my bed, watching me as I carefully apply lotion on my body, I catch his stare and smile, I want to tell him again how beautiful his eyes are but I am interrupted with a question, “what are your intentions with me”. I laugh like how I usually do when I am trying to avoid answering a question. He asks again, this time with more seriousness to it as he holds my stare, I laugh again giving myself time to think of a perfect response, a response which doesn’t scare him off or expose me, I fail, and I just stare back at him instead. He takes that as a response

Foreword : Every man I have ever met, thinks he is the best thing that has ever happened to me, I don't blame them. Have you met me when I am in love, in like or in lust ? I forget myself.  When anyone asks about my dating history, I am quick to respond that I don't date, but  everyone knows that's a lie. I just hate having to explain my dating history to anyone, so  in future if anyone asks, I will refer them to this blog. I want to refer to him as " T he Banker" because I can't remember what he did for a living or what his role was because I never bothered to ask, all I knew was he had an important role at the bank. Even on a steamy October afternoon, he was immaculate and exuded a fresh scent. His usual, most basic white shirt and black pair of pants made him look like a Ralph Laurent model. He was almost the best thing that has ever happened to me, if only, I could swallow my pride and be honest for once. He met me when I was a girl, with her head in the c