Love or Lust: She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not?

A tale of she loves me, she loves me not


“All have been, or at least all have believed themselves to be, in danger from the pursuit of someone whom they wished to avoid; and all have been anxious for the attentions of someone whom they wished to please.”  Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey


You read the above quote and you moaned, laughed or grinned. Be honest. I remember reading an inspirational note on Facebook a long time ago [yes Facebook]. I will try to summarize it as close to the original post as possible.

It said: “Lying to someone is wrong and sad but lying to yourself is an absolute tragedy.”

Therefore, I aim to speak the truth and nothing but the truth in this matter of the heart.

Jane Austen scribbled the above quote in the 18th century but it is applicable for all humans in the 21st century and it will stay true in the 30th century. One moment we are running away in fright from  someone who dote on us. You may murmur in frustration:

Will you please stop calling and texting me?”

“What is wrong with him/her, what part of leave me alone will he/she not understands?”

I do not want his attention and all that sweet doting because I am not attracted to it and his persistent affection irritates the one after my last nerve. I secretly wish he can meet another girl who he would transfer all that tender loving care. Honestly, I would get to the point where I would be willing to hook him up with another girl, any girl (so what she is a close friend). Hey! Desperate times call for desperation action, so if it means he would crush on my close friend so that he can leave me alone, I am all in favour of the transferral of lovey dovey to my pal. She can have all that nauseating behaviour and my sanity will return to normal levels. When my mobile phone cries I mourn because I wonder if it is Mr. Can’t You-Understand. I sigh in desperation, when it is him and cry in anguish “why me, why me?” In that instance I think of a thousand ways to abuse his affection but I never go through with it because I am not that type of girl. I rather tell you I am not interested now, then hook your heart to my arteries then violently disconnect them later. I consider myself  a good girl in that department so when Mr. Can’t shows up and he will not leave, I wonder if someone is ‘punking’ me. Maybe the Ashton Kutcher for the non-celebrity folks is waiting in the hedges waiting to relieve me.  What do I do?

In another instance we are inwardly and sometimes outwardly dying for  that other person. When I see a man who gives me butterflies in my stomach everything in my life feels different. Everywhere he is, I am want to are [this language is when you have it really bad]. Mercies forbid he does not notice me, I feel like the ground should swallow me. I wonder is it the smell of my hair, my breath or my armpits. I over analyse every situation: every conversation and every action. Trust me the CIA has nothing on me in that instance. I start scribbling words like:

I see your face when I do not want to and your smile reminds me of things I do not want to feel anymore.

There is something about your face that sucks me in, threatening to break down every resistance.

I want to run away, be like that slave whose grand maroonage led him to the guarded community but at the same time I want to stay.

I want to know what it is like to totally surrender,  at the uttermost mercy of a love more passionate and fiery than any volcanic eruption.

I harass my girlfriends, pouncing question after questions to satisfy that itch. They tell me patient, he will come along when he is ready, it makes no sense to harass the poor man with my feelings.

Suddenly all the songs on the radio and on my playlists, speaks about me and my roller coaster emotional state. Remember that song Mr. Vain by Culture Beat? The only part I remember in the song goes like this:

“I know what I want and I want it now

I want you cause I’m Mr Vain.”

I bit my bottom lip like a spoilt child, demanding a candy now. “That stupid boy says he likes me but that is all he says,” I murmur in disdain. When my phone cries, I giggle like a teenage love struck girl but calmly answers like a diplomatic. I do not want him to know I have waited for his call. I need  smoothness in the mix but then  am I making sense? Be honest, tell me.



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