Well, there are feelings and then there are the words but a distance between the two, where my head hurts and I’m never hungry and I spend too much time huddled underneath a sweater on my balcony watching the neighbors as I try to make sense of stuff. I haven’t been in love in a long time, not for many years and I still keep that man close as a friend. I text him every week and he does too. So here I stand in high waisted jeans and a heart too blatantly worn on my sleeve. I’m at the almost too drunk point, I’m sure you’ve been there, you feel hazy and high but uncomfortable in the excess. It’s typically when I’ll switch to water and pray against tomorrow’s probable headache. Yes, remove the wine glass and place instead a man’s hand in my hand. I feel all those almost too drunk things without the actual drink. And it seems too vulnerable to speak of these things so publicly especially when I think of him, but then I remember why I love coming here to write and so right ahead I’ll write. I’ve shared the ends and outs of my dating life rather candidly for a long time now and it’s a habit I refuse to quit. I might not have the traffic or the instagram following that other bloggers do but I have a true story here and I intend to keep it that way. So yes high waisted denim and a heart exposed and beating on my sleeve. That’s me this week and especially this weekend where everything washed away and came back again like a wave. I feel weird and afraid but should it not work with this man I’m glad I’ll have these words here to re-read should I meet someone new and feel this way again. Which seems unlikely because I rarely meet any male I like even a little. And so let me reverse back to my conundrum, as a professional fashion blogger; clothes are an easy thing for me. I like to think I wear them well. I can style something half decent in just a few seconds. I know colours and how they coordinate. I know what shoes look best with certain denim styles or skirts or dresses. I know clothes, I do, I’ve been wearing them professionally and to pay my rent for many years now. But as for this heart of mine? Where on earth do I wear it? How do I wear it? I’m pulling and tugging it uncomfortably like a blazer too big or a bra too tight. It feels strange wearing it at all, quite like the discomfort that comes from a top showcasing too much cleavage. I prefer to keep both of these things tucked away and safe. But here’s this heart of mine, fully out and here I am looking down at it or through a mirror and wondering why and how.