Taking stock: an ode to someone I love.

Okay. I know it’s been a while since I’ve seriously and consistently blogged. It’s not because I haven’t had time, because if I’m completely honest with you, I’ve had shit loads of it.

But after a few years of mostly being silent, I have the urge to start communicating again. So I am.

Going through the various drafts in this blog’s post section, I’ve come across a few gems I never got round to finishing, but I reckon I’ll post them anyways, because they’re surprisingly honest.

The post below is from four years ago. I can’t remember why I say I was low – the only thing I can think of is the end of my second relationship. However, its not only the content that encouraged me to finally post this, but also the language. I think I must have really loved him. That’s nice.


It’s funny how time changes things: looks, seasons, emotions. Those close to me know I recently became single and at the time, I don’t think I’ve ever quite been so low. Apart from the usual broken heart, love lost and questions about whether I could ever make a relationship work, this was the first time I ever seriously felt like the problem was me. That’s I wasn’t mature enough to make a long-distance relationship work, I wasn’t smart or interesting enough to keep us going, I wasn’t enough to make him comfortable enough to love me.

In hindsight, I realise that none of these things were true. In trying to understand a man who is essentially the most complicated human being I’ve ever come across, I spent all my time trying to separate the greys into blacks and whites and it just wasn’t so simple. My ex is truly one of the most sensitive, honest (sometimes I’d wish he’d at least soften Truth’s sharp blow), rational and fun people I’ve ever know. He’s also one of the most stubborn, proud and emotionally blocked people too. His light is so strong, but its strength is drawn from the dark depths that exist in the same place.


Published by oranabutterfly

Just a woman curating this life one blog post at a time.

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