A haters love story

A Haters Love Story

I don't understand the women who have low expectations of men. Although I am no longer with any of the boys I have loved, they proved to me that I should never settle for anything less than a cliche, dreadfully romantic and awkward love. I can think of nothing less, nor hope for nothing less when I ever do love again; for I have been drawn by an artist, played ballads and sung to until I peacefully close my eyes. I have been taken to the beach, walked along the shores, whispering secrets until the sun falls, even written our initials in the sand, only to see them get eaten up by the sea in that way making them part of the beauty that are the ocean waves. We are forever sealed under the water, our secrets let out in the salty air. I figure I've had enough romantic experiences to drown in them. But I'd still like a couple more. 

Let me be clear, I never figured myself a romantic:

A pessimist, a cynic maybe, better known as a hater. I laughed in the face of love, played with it, tried to make it into something that it isn't. But not even I could escape it when I met a hater just like me. A boy who unfortunately would make me the cheesiest girl I know, proving that my expectations could be as high as the moon, because we were stars baby. Don't get me wrong, as a hater, I was not always on board. I tried everything I could not to like him. I could have tried harder, but I fell hard and fast. Like down a manhole or a well. But I knew from the beginning, when I began to feel that feeling that I was a fool. A happy, stupid fool.

I don't know why people don't write letters anymore. I do.

People have given up on antiquated courting rituals, like writing letters. I don't think I have ever read anything more lovely than a letter written especially for me. Writing is what I love, and there is nothing better than a well written letter. I saved them all like a doofus, because they truly are special to me. My father used to write my mother letters, which is probably why I love them so much. No hay cosa más bella, ni había palabras suficientes en mil idiomas para decir como se siente tenerla, mi princesa. 

I would also like a mix tape:

Nothing is better for a relationship than a decent soundtrack. 

No, not those awful Luis Miguel love ballads (lo siento mami), I'm talking about bands with songs that remind me how I feel about you.

Megan's Top Not Lame Love Songs or THE BEST MIX EVER

• Un Amor Violento- Los Tres  (definitivamente la mas cursi o no)

• Made to Last- SSLYBY

• Video Games- Lana Del Ray

• Tick of Time- the Kooks

• Suck it & see- AM

• Sea of Love- looks awful but it's on the JUNO soundtrack??

• La velocidad de la luz- aún no la puedo escuchar

Y con estas canciones, con mi mix, son la última cosa que descarto después que todo cambia. Estaría mintiendo si digo que nunca he roto un corazón, o he jugado con alguien, solo porque si. Te estaría estafando si diría que el amor no viene con una gran perdida o no?

He loves me, he loves me not…

Holding the photo in my hands, I pick off the petals, stupid cute rolled up magazine articles pink purple and blue. He loves me, he loves me not. My heart beats with anticipation, and I won't say what the last petal reveals, because the petals are all in my hands, and I know I can't hold them there forever.

'This is for you, for you to remember us when we are far apart.'

Guardando mi ropa de verano, los veo y los boto. Pero al pensar en nuestras fotos mezclada con los papeles de basura y otras cosas que ya fueron, los rescato. Tomo mi tiempo mirándolas, estudiándooslas, tratando de acordarme como era verte en persona.  Ahí me doy cuenta que parte de mi quizás se quebré en mil pedazos con una mirada tuya, algo que he estado ignorando. Pero la otra parte de mi es mas fuerte que un corazón roto. Osea, espero que sea.  And I think about all these things now, and I'm so afraid that I feel the waves coming up, taking my breath away, making me wipe away the salt from my eyes, from under my lashes. When the memories are all we have left it makes me wonder if any of it was worth it; if all I ever wrote, all I ever felt, was worth the heart break that comes with every end. I am always angry at myself for being stupid enough to fall into weakness; into love.

Quien borra las fotos, quien toma los pasos de seguir sin el otro>

In almost all my boy experiences, I have been the one who moves on, who rebounds and begins again. But this time it was different. I still had the photos; I could picture them in my mind more clearly than ever. Like at the party, sitting on the couch. Taking a picture of you, of us, knowing that this could stir up trouble, knowing that it was really what I wanted, hearing you laugh. The day at the park, with the Santa Lucia in the background, the river and the darkening skies, with just enough light so the picture comes out clearly. And the dancing water in the black room, illuminated by our presence, looking like a thousand camera flashes all capturing the moment. Like the projector, playing with the lights until they shimmer of our skin, creating a contrast of colors. Endless like the sea, my leggings getting wet with the water, you on the shore, following me down to the sand.  Like all these moments where snap. Saved. I don't want to think about that anymore okay?

I want to forget ok?

But I also want to be able to say that we made it, and that our story is different from all the rest. I want to be young and in love forever.

Y al verlo, verlo una vez mas, es más difícil de lo que imagine. Ni son los recuerdos que te hunden, pero el sentimiento de un final, no un comienzo. I try to talk to you but words can't come close to expressing what needs to be said. So we don't talk about the past, what happened months ago, we talk about the present. How is your family, college, do you still watch that one show? And how maybe one day, after all of this, we can talk about the future; our future. And if there is one.

Sigo pensando en como terminar este cuentito corto de luv y corazones. I used to think about the awkwardness that awaits me. I felt as though my story has all the bearings of a Midwestern romcom where a quirky girl finds a soul mate 5000 miles away. #tragically #lame. But I don't watch those movies unless tricked into them, so if it was, I wouldn't know.

But as much as I wanted to know the ending, wanted to be able to write it all down , I realized that I don't know how it ends yet because it's not over. It is impossible to describe all the things that have made me feel like a princess, or the times I didn't have a date for a lame dance. I just know that it has changed me, made me stronger than the year befort, the one before that, and that maybe there will be more new loves, and more broken hearts. But maybe that's the pretty thing about love, that I won't know how the story ends until I live it, and I feel it.

Staring at the stars like lovers do:

I feel like anything could happen, because anything and everything has happened to me. A once cynical love hater has turned into a romantic and then back again and then back again. Spending days getting weird in public places, running around the city to finish errands, playing scrabble like an old married couple. Listening to the Arctic Monkeys on my floor, thinking about you. Those are the things that make haters like you and I fall in love.