The Joy Scribbles

Dear Darling, You have convinced yourself that there is nothing more to you than him. But I am here to remind you that he is the stale taste of overnight cigarettes and the heavy presence of vodka on a sunday morning. And you? You are the sun and stars. A whole Galaxy. A swirl of places I could hide myself in. He tried to set you on fire didn't he? He tried to burn down your barricades and when you didn't break he fed you love in the form of roses, wine, Brazilian weaves and luxuries you never needed. He tried to coax you out of your safe room, Didn't he? He tried to fatten you up with insecurities so there would be no space for self love in there. Why did no one tell him you were a volcanoe? And that no one had survived your erruptions? Why did no one tell him that broken boys can't love strong women? Didn't he know? Didn't he see you would break him? Didn't he see you were not the kind of horse that could be tamed? Cause I did. I saw it the moment yo...

Before I left everyone told me how much I would love it. How much everything about Cape Town reminds them of me. I loved it... The four days I spent in Cape Town made it so easy to love. She was loving and Sunny and Calm. Ever so calm. And she stretched into forever and I've never been more aware of how tiny I am than trying to see the difference between the beginning of the sky and the ending of the ocean. Everything about Cape Town is so me. From the way people walk everywhere, to how even the traffic sounds like song, to how very few people wear jeans. No one cares about anything beyond themselves. and I went to this place called The Waiting Room where people literally smoke weed in public on a roof and even though I don't approve or condone drug use I found that funny. Cape Town? Cape Town is a barefooted, dreadlocked, skateboarding, shorts wearing hippie. She is tanned and never forgets her shades or lip balm, sometimes wears bikinis as whole outfits, owns two german...

I wanted to say I was falling in love with you. But I wondered why love would be described as Falling. Would I be like a fallen city? Knocked down barricades, burned down houses, broken women and children, dead men? Conquered? Am I a thing to be conquered? A Fallen empire? something long forgotten? Just a leftover version of myths someone proved correct? Hidden away in rubbles of old alters were he worships me or dusty history books. No one even reads history books any more. Or am I more like a tea cup? Fallen off a shelf while I dusted my mother's cupboards, shattered into so many pieces I swept up and hid in the Pit Latrine. I wonder if she will ever figure I broke it. Is that what will happen? Will I break if I fall in Love? Will someone sweep me up and hide me? Because I am falling for a boy and it feels a lot less like falling. A lot more like flying. Or floating.

On some days I craddle nothing more than smiles and laughter. Nothing more than dragonflies and unicorns. Bits of magical sing song flowers that won't stop to hum to me "God said he loves you" I can't help but believe that even I, this terrible human, is worthy of someone.