Three Words by Caravaggio

I have been searching for this post ever since changed its interface. Good thing I was able to save this in my mailbox a long, long time ago.


The three words that mean the most aren’t “I love you”, with its history of being an accomplice to lies, with its bad reputation as a myth. What is “I love you” but the easy way out, the secret weapon revealed at the ends of long-drawn battles between desperation and despair? “I love you” is what you say when you run out of valid arguments but decide to keep fighting anyway. “I love you” is what you use when you want to appear to be someone you’re not. These are powerful words, powerful in the way that politicians and generals are nowadays, worth their weight in gold. “I love you” has been the pillar of empires and friendships, and their causes for downfall. “I love you” is where you build the tower of your trust, only to see it crumble down when these words are said to someone else. “I love you” is what you use when you want to be unfair, when you want to deliberately hurt. “I love you” throws the whole equation in chaos, unbalances the seesaw. It implies the loss of reason and pride, but is used to manipulate, to blackmail, leaving behind disillusionment and disappointment.

The three words that mean the most aren’t “I want you”, with its raw, blatant inconsideration, its implications of a primal need that is best released orgasmically. “I want you” is what spoiled brats say, it’s what selfish bitches say, it’s what horny boys say. “I want you” is harsh, said through clenched teeth, said with wild eyes. “I want you” is a physical sentence, the amalgamation of skin against a number of factors: skin on skin, fingernail on skin, teeth on skin. It is violent and rapid, a whirlwind of emotion, an explosion of saliva and other bodily fluids. These are words that have no origin, they emerge from the basest of instincts, they are triggered by smell, by touch, by the look of rawness in another person’s eyes. These are words that signal the coming of a storm, and like most storms, they wreak havoc and then depart, leaving behind ruin and wounds.

The three words that mean the most aren’t “I need you”, with its childish, clingy implications, its sad, pathetic grievances. “I need you” leaves you open, blinding you to yourself, eradicating all traces of self-respect. “I need you” is the dying breath of a failed relationship. It is the battlecry of an overpowered suitor. These words signal the clinging to memories that are either long gone, or never were. These words bypass true necessity to make fools out of the sayers. These are not words to be used by all; it takes the strongest persons to relay this message correctly. Otherwise all is naught, you only reveal yourself as an empty shell craving for something, anything, to fill it. But then, the strongest persons never have the need to say these words. It’s the irony of life. These words are like taking a knife to your throat and piercing your skin gently, leaving behind a trail of blood too thin for anyone to see, but painful enough for you to feel.

The three words that mean the most, I think, the ones that really hit the mark, and often in the most unexpected of ways, are “I miss you”. This is the sentence that sends the message right home. Because what other message is there? Nothing else, except exactly just that, “I miss you”, and everything else is pulled along into it, like a chain reaction. Unlike “I love you” and the lies that go along with it, “I miss you” is honest and sincere, you only say it when you mean it, and you don’t have to mean it in a big way to really mean it. Unlike “I want you” and its expectations, “I miss you” offers all it has, and waits for nothing in return. Unlike “I need you” and its desperate whines, “I miss you” stands on its own, a whole entity in just three words, devoid of arms that cling to you for life.

“I miss you” means everything and nothing, it is unflinching and honest. It is upbeat and simple, with wisps of longing and clouds of hope. You miss people you used to love, people you used to want, people you used to need. But most of the time the missing is all that’s left, and that’s OK, there’s nothing else you’d change. The missing implies a past that remains in its rightful place. Or it implies the reality and possibilities of the present. It is hope and love and lust and peace all at the same time. Some people say that when they met that person, it was akin to “coming home”. And missing is this manifestation of home-sickness, the way people return to their homelands to die, the way all the comfort the world has to offer is nothing compared to the feeling of being in someone’s arms.

And that’s why I miss you, because you’re not here, and because every time I think about you, that’s all that I think. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, and the world turns for both of us, and I can’t wait until you come home.



Meantime Girl

I was rummaging through one of our old blogs looking for a certain post when I found this. Thought about re-posting it here.. 😛



She’s the one you call when you’re bored because she makes you laugh. She’s the one you talk to when you’re feeling down because she’s willing to lend an ear and be a friend. She’s not the one you call when you need a date to your company’s Christmas party, or to go dancing with on a Saturday night. She’s the one you spend time with between girlfriends, before you find “The One”. You know, the one who you keep around in the meantime.

She’s not one of the guys, not a tomboy, but you don’t look at her as a “real” woman, either. She’s not bitchy enough, moody enough, or sexy enough to be seen in that light. She’s too laid-back, too easily amused by the same things your male buddies are amused by. She’s too understanding, too comfortable – she doesn’t make you feel nervous or excited the way a “real” woman does. But she’s cool,and nice, and funny, and attractive tough that when you’re lonely or horny and need intimate female companionship, she’lldo just fine. You don’t have to wine and dine her because she knows the real you already, and you don’t have any facades to keep up, no pretenses to preserve. You’re not trying to get anything of substance out of her. She’s not easy, but you know that she cares about you and is attracted to you, and that she’ll give you the intimacy you need. And you know you don’t have to explain yourself or the situation, that she’ll be able to cope with the fact that this isn’t the beginning of a relationship or that there’s any possibility that youhave any real romantic feelings for her. It won’t bother her that you’ll get up in the morning, put on yourpants, say goodbye, and go on a date with the woman you’ve been mooning over for weeks who finally agreed to go out with you. She’ll settle for a goodbye hug and a promise to call her and tell her how the date went. She’s just so cool…why can’t all women be like that?!

But deep down, if you really think about it (which you probably don’t because to you, the situation between the two of you isn’t important enough to merit any real thought), you know that it’s really not fair. You know that although she would never say it, it hurts her to know despite all her good points and all the fun you two have, you don’t think she’s good enough to spend any real time with.
Sure, it’s mostly her fault, because she doesn’t have to give in to your needs – she could play the hard-to-get bitch like the rest of them do, if she really wanted to. But you and she both know that she probably couldn’t pull it off. Maybe she’s too short, or a little overweight, or has a big birthmark
on her forehead, or works at Taco Bell, or just really not that type.

Whatever the reason, somehow life has given her a lot of really great qualities but has left out the ones that men want (or think they want)in a woman. So she remains forever the funny friend, the steadfast companion, the secret lover, and you go on searching for your goddess who will somehow be everything you ever wanted in a woman.

You’ll joke to her that she should be the best man at your wedding, and she’ll laugh and make a joke about a smelly rental tux. She doesn’t captivate you with her beauty, or open doors with her
smile. Mainly she blends in with the crowd. She’s safe. She doesn’t want to be the center of attention and turn the heads of everyone in the room. But she wants to turn someone’s head.
She wants to be special to someone, too. We all do.

She has feelings.
She has a heart.
In fact, she probably has a bigger and better heart than any woman you’ve ever known because she’s had a front-row seat to The Mess That Is Your Life, and she likes you anyway. She obviously sees something worthwhile and redeeming in you because
although you’ve given her nothing, absolutely no reason to still be around, she is.

Anyway, yeah. I’m a Meantime Girl.
Been one more times than I care to admit.
I don’t know the reason, really, and at this point I don’t even care.
I just want to let every guy know who’s ever had the good fortune to
have a Meantime Girl that we may be a lot of fun, but we cry, too.
A lot.
And someday we won’t be around.

~An anonymous meantime girl~