The second Londres Trip

I am back from my second Londres visit. Everything went perfectly, the walks, the talks, the dinners, the arguments, all but one: when I found sms's from another girl referring to him as her: habibi. I instantly flipped forgetting all the rules of the game. I flipped because there I was once again, having given so much, invested too much into him, and loved him even more. He paused, gave me an excuse, and I did a Hillary: I forgave but of course will not and never forget.

His Pause lasted for about 5 minutes where he went to the toilet to wash up.

a pause is more than a coincidence of sentence. a pause is a huge thing filled and overflowing with implications, possibilities, and things unsaid.

a pause can be the time needed to respond with a witty reply.

a pause can be the time to make up a lie. obligations, expectations, hopes, and faith is poured on us like molten lava ... burning what we think we're capable of; we look in that moment of nothingness for an escape ... a keyhole of possibility to avoid the situation.

a pause can be the leash we need to hold back wild tears.

a pause can the time allotted ...to gather the pieces of yourself... just enough of yourself to tell a hurtful confession of truth to a loved one.

a pause can be a thought: the fantasy of hands pressing against flesh in a warm mess of passion. pauses that are taken to give us enough time to smirk. lips that press firmly against one another so steamy words cannot leak out into the world.

a pause can hold the laughs that are SO INTENSE that no sound comes out for the first 3 seconds.

mmm yes. a pause can be a time to weigh options. sitting in your room listening to music and wondering where this can go. an imaginary moment that manipulates you into believing that you can actually control fate. a moment of fake control ... like you can actually predict what will happen if you say, "yes" or "uhm, naw im going to bed." a pause to think, 'whats the worse that can happen?'

. . . a pause that is bold enough to answer your question & change everything .

There was something I saw in his face the first time I met him: a dark shadow that showed he is sleazy with girls. The more I got to know him, the more I got confused: was he really a player or simply a man unlucky in love?

But what surprised me the most is when I wondered: what girl who go for him? Seriously. I am way out of his league and he knows it. When we walk together, people always stare, probably what I am doing with this dude. He is ugly, short, bald, slightly chubby, walks funny, has black smoker's lips and is stingy with his money. He is not romantic at all and may cheat. Hmm, what the hell am I doing with him again?

Oh yes, I'm already hooked. But more than that, I am trying to prove to myself that I can get him and I will get him to seriously fall for me. To get this man to propose would be the greatest triumph in my life so far. Therefore, I must persist until I get what I want. 

So during this trip, we visited Westfield shopping mall, ate at the Greek restaurant and made friends with the Egyptian waiter, drank at Teatro, went to an ophthalmologist for him, had Kebabland, shopped in Harrods, and was seen by 2 of his acquaintances, walked across The Strand and ended up in Covent Garden, ate at Carluccio's and...... it was a good trip.

Tips for my future home:

Till we meet again,

Sedeso

PS: I sure would make a wonderful Ace Venturetta since I kinda found out who she was. Her name was Ibtesam. She graduated in either 2008 or 2009 from her bachelor's in Business Administration, 2nd top scorer in her batch. So unless she had a late start, I assume she would be nearing the age of 25 years by now. A kid obviously. But one thing is for sure: that regardless of how great her assets are, she will never ever be me or even come close for I am a wonderful, unique woman that very few men can handle. As my therapist says: I am too much for an average man and it will take a special someone to whisk me off my feet.