Hey my name is Hannah. I’m 24 years old born and raised in Southern California. For a brief time I lived in San Francisco (3 years) so sometimes I crave just concrete, liberal ideas, and wild times.
My URL is named after a Maná song. I’m half black and half Latina. Both identities mean a lot to me and I always have to explain to people constantly that I’m half Latina when I grew up very Latina. (Although my Spanish needs a lot of work)
So I started this blog really for myself. (doesn’t everyone say this?) I usually just journal but it’s nice to have something at the touch of your fingertips. I hate how most social media controls me at least. (almost like that episode of Black Mirror.) I’m always concerned with followers and likes and etc. I know with this format I won’t worry as much. So with that being said my writing will have mistakes and spelling errors. This blog is just a flow not some perfect thing I’m trying to make a career. So welcome to the crazy life that is Hannah.
Words could never
express the way I feel
The emotions that overcome me when I see you
even only after a few hours
When your lips touch mine
Also the moments of insecurity
Will this last?
Is this real?
These emotions are just as strong
I had a friend who said
Never give your heart away
until you say I do
I understand now
You forget the times you spent together and what they meant to you, maybe even the vows you took on a special day. You get lost between the commute times and non linking schedules. So you get sucked in by that one cute coworker that always tells you, you look nice and keeps asking you to happy hour. You can’t remember the last time your significant other said you looked nice or even took you out. Hell when was the last time you guys had sex? So you finally accept an offer to happy hour. You giggle at all your coworker’s jokes and have too many Moscow mules. They lean in closer to you and you didn’t expect it but they kiss you and you let them. You let them lead you to their apartment ripping each others clothes one by one. Heaving breathing, heaving petting. It’s done. You cum but now you feel empty. You put on your clothes explain you got to go. Driving home to place you made a home with another person. You can’t even look them in their face when they say “How was your day babe?” They might not know it now but sooner or later they’ll find out the loyalty is gone. The trust is finshed. If you are lucky you’ll fight it through but the look on their face when you go out with your friends or go on a little grocery trip or to the gym by yourself will never fade.
There was a video we always watched on YouTube by Wong Fu Productions called Strangers Again. We said it would never happen to us but it did. Yesterday I deleted your number. We haven’t talked well over year other than saying happy birthday to each other. But I kept your number in my phone for a safe haven. I never knew why. Every time I look into my past it seemed like a movie, not real, a distant memory. You were a movie, not real, a distant memory. All I had was a phone number I could call anytime. The one that you would always pick up and listen to me no matter what was happening: together, unstable, not together, or haven’t spoken in months. But I look into his eyes and realize I’m glad we are strangers again. That sometimes things don’t work out the way you want. That it’s finally time to let go.
I had a taste of love
It ripped me apart
I vowed it wasn’t worth it
Destroying anybody who ever tried
But you came along
With your gentle touch
I don’t know how but
You made me believe again
I was in lust. I hated you the moment I met you. You looked down on any music that wasn’t pop punk or post hardcore because that music has “meaning” and musical talent. Gandhi was your hero for his non violent protest but you can never see your heros or anything you said in a critical way. It worried me because you were majoring in sociology and didn’t see your problematic ways.
I was in love superficially. You came to me with sweet notes written on paper towels and fresh picked flowers. I didn’t know how to be alone and your arms were sufficient. You always picked up the phone or opened your door.
I was wrong. The way I saw you and the time I told you to fuck off. You sipped your vegan latte and told me you struggled to find a balance in life and finding a person to love. Me and you were the same. Too alike.