I could draw a line through

The quadrants of existence,

Make formulae that equate

You = Me.

But, we will never meet.

I could change all the variables,

Keep you a constant;

Solve all the possibilities

Of you and me,

But, we will never meet.

I could be your x, y, z,

The definition of your universe,

The solution to all your god-

Damned problems.

But we will never, ever meet.

I’m not lonely. I’m not.

Alright, 95% of the time I’m not, but the fact that I am typing furiously right now about the joys of singlehood means that five-percent of the time, I actually am, kind of, a little, frustratingly, utterly, lonely.

But it’s not really that bad being single, most of the time. Just yesterday, I was running a little late for my 7 30 am Calculus class, and I hadn’t bothered with a shower. I went to class in all my disheveled, just-woke-up glory, and I didn’t worry once that I would have an appalled boyfriend looking at me with alarm and (slight) disgust. (On a side note, mornings like that may be the reason why I’m single.)

Another good thing about being single is I don’t have relationship-y problems to deal with. I’m stressed out enough as it is with Macroeconomics and scraping through my Business classes, I most certainly do not need a melodramatic boy who needs attention and sweet, sweet loving all friggin’ day long to add to the mess I call junior year of University. Still, there are moments when I feel a little left out when my friends pour their hearts out into plastic cups filled with cheap beer. He’s such a jerk. Or I can’t believe she’s going out with that guy.Or I’m prettier than her, right? RIGHT?

They’ve all got their own sob stories which, more often than not, make me thankful that I am flying solo. And then they get all cliquish, and have silent conversations with one another, because of course, only people who have been in a relationship will understand. That’s when I feel left out. When you’re single, sometimes it almost seems as if you’re floating around in a bubble. On one hand, you’re feeling safe and carefree, and then you look around at the couples beyond the bubble’s membrane and you feel like you’re missing out on something that might actually be special. But you’re not quite sure if it’s special, since you’re stuck in your god-forsaken bubble because Prince Charming won’t friggin’ come and pop it. (No pun intended.)

I could just go on and on about Valentine’s Day. The majority of the five-percent loneliness probably happens on that day. I mean, it’s the day where your singlehood is rubbed violently into your face. People go around, casually asking what your plans for the day are and your honest answer is Sulk in a corner with a bottle of tequila and contemplate ending it all. Watch ‘A Walk to Remember’ and cry a few liters of tears. Eat cookie dough. Contemplate ending it all. But you have to say something like Oh, nothing much. Finish my paper on Intangible Heritage for Social Anthropology. And they give you a pitying look which makes you want to bash their heads with some Intangible Heritage.

The thing that gets me down, for some strange reason, is the lack of flowers in my hands during this lovely Holiday. I don’t even like flowers. But it’s the principle of the thing that puts a thorn through my soul. Last Valentine’s Day, I went into my Psychology class and I was the only, the one and only girl who didn’t have flowers on her table. And of course I had to act all nonchalant about it, but the truth was it was kind of, maybe a little, absolutely depressing. It’s just a damned flower, but the meaning behind the giving of the flower is what is worth lamenting. Truth is, I did get a rose from a nice boy when I was in high school, and I remember how it made me feel. It made me feel pretty. It made me feel good about myself. Is it too much to ask for one little flower when the pretty girls get gaudy, enormous bouquets?

As I said, most of the time, I’m totally chipper, though it may not be too obvious given this melodramatic rant. Unfortunately, this was written at the said 5-percent of loneliness stage of things. It sucks, it absolutely suckssometimes to be the single one. Jason Derulo may shiny it up a bit and talk about Ridin’ Solo but I don’t think even he would deny, it’s actually quite nice to think that you’re not a lone rider. I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride off into the sunset with the person who makes you feel pretty? Cue romantic soundtrack. End credits. Cue happily ever after.

Inspired by North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell and the BBC mini-series based on the novel.

She was a gentle breeze to him,
a breath of summer air;
the only solace he could find
in frozen winter glare.

In her cheeks the roses bloomed,
when all around was frost;
in her eyes the fires burned
though warmth to all was lost.

With her eyes, she thawed the heart
encased in ice and snow;
with her smile she warmed him up
and set his soul aglow.

He took her hands and pressed her close,
to breathe her summer air;
but when he strove to read her heart,
he found but winter there.

Darcy: “May I see you home?”

Lizzy: “NO!— I mean, I dearly love to walk.”

Darcy: “YES!— Yes.”

No chance, no way, I won’t say I’m in looooove.:)

I found this on deviantart.com.

I think it’s priceless. Oh, Mr. Darcy, send me a text message.<3

I watched Harry Potter recently and of course, Snape’s love story recollected his role as the oh-so-romantic Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibility.

So I just HAD to see Sense and Sensibility again.

Then I went out and bought Mr. Darcy’s Daughters by Elizabeth Aston, it’s not Austen, but it’ll do to quench my hormones for the timebeing.

Oh, and I’m watching the 1980s version of Pride and Prejudice. (Because I’ve seen the 1995 and 2005 versions more than 20 times. No exaggeration.[and I saw the 1940 version as well.)

Austen really does have some magic. There’s something about the characters she paints that makes you either love them (Mr. Darcy) or hate them (Mr. Collins). They feel real. In a way, they are real. She’s conjured them up with a bit of ivory and they’re affecting our lives profoundly. I mean, I don’t know where I’d be without Pride and Prejudice. It’s my go-to book whenever I’m down. Jane is my best friend, Jane is every young woman’s best friend: and that’s a more enduring spell than any cast by the Elder Wand.

Sorry, Rowling! Still love you though, and I think Remus is a keeper. You should not have killed him.:(

A comic play on the blazon

How dare you say I am not fit
To love someone like you?
Is there a vital thing I’ve missed
A thing I did not do?

Who would refuse the golden locks
And sheen of my blonde hair?
What foolish maid would dare say no
To one so fine and fair?

Why! My skin is of the finest silk,
The softest in the land!
I think that I may even say;
It's softer than your hands.

Yet you refuse a treasure trove
And say I am not fit;
Well, I say rejecting me
Displays your lack of wit.

So dear madam, I take my leave;
Bewail my leaving form,
I’m sure that once I’ve left this place
Your heart will be all torn.

(Source: youngwriterssociety.com)

Let us set our hearts a-flutter,
weave a tale of candid lovers;
star-crossed, starlit, little stars,
rehearsing our pretend parts.

Let us play with one another,
teach our souls to sweetly suffer;
coax a love to swiftly grow
then bury it in icy snow.

Let us fool with one another,
tempt a love that lasts forever;
pluck a heart and make it ache,
and by departing, make it break.
—-
And do not think my kiss is true,
or that my tears are shed for you;
for we but fooled with one another.
(And taught my soul to sweetly suffer.)