I deleted his number today. I truly believe I have moved on, but I can’t deny that I’m waiting for an unknown number to text me and say ‘I miss you’.
My babe, is my babe. Therefore, don’t look, touch, wink, wave, stare, flirt, compliment, hold, mention, text, anything. That’s my job!
Look, let me put it this way: with me, you’re number one and there isn’t even a number two.
That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.
I wish people could just say how they feel like ‘Hey I really don’t like when you do that to me’ or ‘Hey I’m in love with you’ or ‘Hi I really miss you and I think about you all the time’ without sounding desperate. Why can’t everyone be painfully honest and just save people the trouble.
Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.