Lovers' Diary - Iffah

Iffah emailed me the other day with this post. I love it. There will be something you can identify with, the anticipation, the fear, the rush of adrenaline, the simplicity, the fingertips, the memories. This is a fantastic post and I strongly advise you also go check out her blog, Like Animals Do. It's an amazing concoction of life. Her tumblr, Live Dance Fight Unicorn, is also brilliant for those of you that follow and reblog. Feel free to email me with your own entry into this diary. I'd really like you to. Bambola x

Detached from cynics and people with the Half Empty Glass, Love, for most of us, paints a picture so intricately stunning, that even when you immerse yourself in the painfully crafted swirls of its detail, your mind refuses to throw out the big picture. So within you, the concept is inevitably ingrained.

In these details, in the small cracks, there are mix tapes and involuntary smiling. Lip chewing and flowers. Submission and the Beatles. Shyly written professions in blue crayons broken in half on heart shaped cards. Tediously orchestrated phone calls/texts that “whoops. wasn’t meant for You”. And a rush. Completely unaided by sugar, but convincing as a whole-body endorphin invasion.

Our fingers then trace the bigger carvings and find eyelashes tickling your neck and hot breaths in the form of How Beautiful You Look Tonight. Getting tangled up in fairylights and kissing for the first time. Pulling each other beneath the water surface and kissing for the second, third and forth time. Turning off the television and pushing the couch to the window to watch the day come and go. Breathing in the smell of grass, mud and her hair on your shirt after being on your backs the whole day and pointing to parts of the sky you wanted to build your castle. Cradling your head in the curve of his neck and shoulder and being surprised at the perfect fit. Quietly discovering scars, cuts and moles on each other and with your fingers draw imaginary lines that join them, forming a constellation on her back. Taking the bus to nowhere just to sit by the window and watch how the sun hits his face in inconsistent pulses that you eventually see a rhythm in. Spending a whole day sitting across from each other playing Who Speaks First Loses and you both say each other’s name at the same time and call yourself winners. Dancing to the deafening hum of silence. Drawing hearts around individual letters in her favourite book so that they spell out To Me, You Are Perfect because you know she reads that book everytime she needs time off from the world. Believing in unicorns. And living, dancing, fighting together.

And like any other work of perfection, the bitter hearts make a mission out of picking out the mistakes. Damp pillows and hollow stomachs. Compulsiveness. Territory markings. Ugly nights spent drowned in an overwhelming missing and drinks that are not Soda Pop, not OJ, not the clear fluid running from the taps. And the one perforation on the left side of your chest that is in the exact shape of your heart, just barely curtained by your hair that drapes long and low because you hang your head.

But we know better than that. We know that behind every exquisite thing that exists, there has to be something tragic. I think tragedies are reminders. Little stabs once in a while to keep us from forgetting that what we will always have is something larger than anything else. It will be all you need.


Iffah x