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I have this fantasy where I'm walking along the street, and a gorgeous man is walking towards me. As he gets closer, I see the dark stubble framing his mouth, his hair pushed back messily. His eyes never once leave mine, and without saying a word, we're kissing, and falling back into some place where our hands wander with this intense desire.
His mouth teases mine, our voices breathless and raged as we rush to feel ourselves against one another. We have no inhabitions, no insecurity. In that moment, all we care about is one another as our skin collides. And when his jeans are finally push down his thick calf muscles, and my knickers pushed to one side, his strong arms reach out and lift me up into his arms. And slamming me against the wall, he enters me and it's like this extociating, exhilerating moment when I can't concentrate on anything other than this man, as his body pulsates against me. And it's better than any sex before. It defines everything we hear about sex. How it makes every part of your body practically tinglewith pleasure. How its one of the best feelings your body can experience, and a moment when two people are truly connected.
And afterwards, I don't even care whether or not I see him again.
It was just about the moment, and about sex.
I just don't want to be judged, or stereotyped by society.
I think that sometimes, people judge you too harsly. They still see the young, teenage girl you were when you first hit out screens with Hannah Montanna. They forget that with each year, you grow older and one more step away from that phase in life.
And the parents of those children that still idolise Hannah Montanna should realise that their kids too are growing up. And if they think for one moment that you're the reason that they're suddenly dressing more provocative, and acting differently, they shouldn't be so quick to point the finger because you're simply a role model, and they're acting like that not because you're forcing them to, but because that's life. And because they're growing up, too. And I think that's what is hardest for those parents to accept.
But you're beautiful. You have an amazing figure, and if you want to flaunt it, you have every god given right to do so. Each year we grow one step into getting older, and there will come a point in all of our lives where we maybe can't get away with wearing hotpants any longer, and when long hair only ages us, and we have to embrace shorter hair with grace. And its at those times when we'll look back and be glad that we flaunted our vodies when we had the chance.
We're young. We're toying between the last chapters of being a teenager, not quite ready to plummet straight into adulthood. and we're experimenting with our fashion, and how far we can push the boundaries. And any person to judge that is one who looks back and instead of feeling happy that they once did the same thing, are most likely those that didn't. And they're envious, and jealous and that turns into hatred.
Its hard enough for us to grow up in our every day lives with hormones playing havoc with our emotions, but for you its harder. You're growing up under the contant flashlight of Hollywood, and every step you take, you're watched. And you're faced with people who are waiting for you to just fuck up. And you will, more than likely. Maybe more times than you realise. But thats what we're supposed to do, mess up. We're meant to kiss as much frogs as we can, praying they turn into princes. We're supposed to drink too much and feel ashamed of ourselves the next day. Its the moments like these that we learn from our mistakes, and progress in life.
So, to all of those haters, waiting in line for Miley to mess up, take a step back and realise that once upon a time, you were young, too.
You make mistakes, and did some things that perhaps, looking back, you weren't proud of.
But you're also here today, alive and breathing.
So is it really fair to watch someone elses life with such a close scrutiny, when all Miley is doing is growing up? She's on the journey of discovering yourself, and that is something to celebrate, because one day she too will look back, just like you, and see with clarity the mistakes she made that were good, and those that maybe not so much. But she'll also be able to say that she learnt from those mistakes, and they will all define the person she progresses into.
Keep doing what you're doing, girlfriend.
(Maybe not salvia again, though!)
Mwah.
Lo x
How long does it really take to fall in love?
Instantly like Edward Cullen and Bella Swan?
Gradually like Seth Cohen and Summer Adams?
Or does it take you an eternity with one person to really discover love?
How well can you really know someone in a week? A month? Even a year, or two, or three?
Ever had that one moment when you're surprised by someones action? Well, that's because there's still sides to that person that you've never seen.
Granted, you can love someone. The way their mouths pull back into that crooked smile, and the way their skin wrinkles round their perfect eyes. The way their lazy smiles expose husky laughter that makes us weak just hearing it. The way they look, because every time we see them we get this almighty rush of proudness that they're ours.
But how long is it until you're in love with somebody?
You can't know every single part of a person the minute you meet. Or when you introduce them to your world, because they're trying to find a way to fit. You can't know every single reaction that they're going to have to various situations, and whether or not they're really willing to fight off every other guy for you to remain just his.
It takes one or two seconds to say those three small words.
But sometimes I can't help but feel that people confuse lust, with love, and they're two completely different feelings. Lust is the way you feel when you see that person. Those shallow, desireable feelings of being attracted to someone. But love goes deeper than that. Love isn't about the way they look, it's the way thet act. And sometimes people are quick to confuse love.
Ever have days when your hair just won't go right? However much you practically force your parting fringe into an upwards quiff, it will always collapse. However much spray you use to ensure that your self-created masterpiece stays that way, the minute you step outside a gust of wind hits you and pow, your hair is as flat as a pancake! And however much you try and remain posotive that despite looking and feeling utterly hideous, today will be a good day, with every single second, that slither is hope sinks.
Those days never end well.
And the only solution is pulling on your oldest, comfiest clothes. The ones with stains down them, and holes in the sleeves. The ones that hang from your body, overiding every rule Gok Wan states about accentuating your curves. And you reach into the fridge and pull out that secret selection of reserved chocolate, despite the diet in much need of starting. And you flick down the switch on the kettle, heaping generous amounts of hot chocolate powder into your favourite mug.
And then it all seems silly.
I secretly love days like this because they give me an excuse to act like a complete slob, and feel good about it.
Sometimes, I just want to ask somebody,
'What are they fighting for?'
I may be naive, and could cause serious offence to other people, but I just see young men being sent away to a country which is taking away their lives, and their future. And I ask again,
'What are they fighting for?'
What if you're as good as its ever going to get? And by that, I don't mean the shallowness of looks, or giving up on the idea of other potential partners and just settling. I mean, what if you are the nearest to perfection he'll ever get. What if everything he's spent years kidding himself he had, to go down the road of heartache to discover wasn't real, or read about in books, and witnessed in the rom-coms he sneaks out of my bedroom, what if thats all you.
What if you're that girl. You're Julliet. You're Bella Swan. You're the Summer to his inner Seth. The Marissa to his intense outter Ryan. What if you are every cliche of the perfect girl, the one.
And what if you don't give him that one last chance to prove that?
To finally show you what he's spent years running from.
The genuine fact that he's always know it's you.
What if you never give him the chance.
The chance to say those words.
Three little words.
I. Love. You.
Words cannot describe the anger I feel whenever I physically think of you, which isn't often due to the fact you repulse me.
You see, when people first meet you, they're seduced by this cheeky charm that you have, and at first that was attractive. You were fun, had a good sense of humour and you could most likely get away with a lot of things. But now when I think about that, I realise that it wasn't attractive, it was actually an illusion, covering up what you're really like.
Because in actual fact, you're the lowest kind of person. You manipulate those around you, friends and family, making out that you're this poor, hard-up kid whose had such a shitty life, when in fact you've had so much just handed to you on a plate!
When I think about the amount of money I lavished on you during the four month period when we were together, it makes my blood boil
As does the fact you never had the balls to even dump me, just ignore me for days on end, until you decided to text my mum and tell her you wasn't happy.
Yeah, kudos for being a man.
But what annoys me more than anything is the fact you'd spend hours telling me you were different to all those other guys who hurt me, who lied to me, and cheated. And all along, I knew it was bullshit, and yet I still didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did, but I was hoping you would be different. Silly me.
The most laughable part of this is that you were all of them combined, and worse. It's like you try and convince yourself that you're not this vile person, but you are. And true colours will always show, eventually.
But just in case you think that I spent days getting over you, I didn't.
It took two hours of tears before I dyed my hair brown, cut it all off, and realised that I could do so much better than a midget with a small penis, who knows nothing about how to physically use it.
And when I message you for the stuff I asked for back almost a year ago, and you have the cheek to get arsey with me, let me tell you this. I spent months catering to every need you had. Buying you expensive clothes, and treating you all the time that I barely thought of myself, and i'm done being charmed by you. It doesn't work. And it's not the fact that the things i'm asking for back are so petty, it's the fact that they're mine, and you already had enough out of me, so I don't see why you should have more.
I've been cheated on, led on, and played by guys in my life, but all of them are nothing in comparrison to how much of a shitty person you are.
And what makes me laugh is that you're a twenty two year old guy and you can never be on your own. You go from girl to girl, using her, bleeding her dry of money until you find you next victim. And yet you give nothing in return except this little sob story.
And let me tell you this. The violin stopped playing a long time ago, and no one can hear the tune, so dance along to your own pathetic story, solo.
