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.
The first time I saw you, I swear I felt this way before but not with you. I couldn’t explain it, an instant connection that shook my bones. I didn’t want love. I just wanted to go all over the world with me, myself and I but I couldn’t resist. I did stay away for awhile and you made it easy because you were quiet, never saying too much until one night. Our coworker is a local rapper and invited both of us to go to his show. I wasn’t going to go because the last time I got so drunk and threw up in a friend’s truck and ran into my coworker’s screen door but for reasons unknown I changed my mind.
I was a little tipsy because I always got nervous around my coworkers. I could never be myself for the sake of professionalism and my private nature. I don’t know where it came from but I came up to at the bar and said I had a crush on you. You just smiled and said me too. We went to Denny’s later that night. I told you I didn’t think love was real. You told me that your ex girlfriend just broke up with you three weeks ago.
I thought that was going to be it. We were coworkers and you were getting over a break up but it wasn’t. You texted me a random day during the week and asked if I wanted to hang out. I said sure but from that day I was hooked. We were hanging out once a week, then every other day to everyday. I didn’t know what we were doing and at the time I didn’t care much. I just enjoyed being with someone and I couldn’t remember feeling that way. I had been in love once but I forgot how it felt to be kissed and to actually feel something, to be held in someone else arms, to be romantic, to actually feel love.
We eventually talked about what we were doing. You weren’t ready and neither was I. I was still traveling all over: Alaska, Las Vegas, Arizona, Texas, New Mexico, Washington and Oregon. I was also planning to ditch my life and hike the Appalachian trail and you were still in love with someone else.
I didn’t know how hard it would get or how hard I would fall but it did and I did. For months I kept denying myself but I knew I was in love, I knew I wanted to be with you. You kept burning me over and over again. “I’m not ready.” “I still think about her sometimes.” “We are just friends.”
I wanted to be strong enough to say fuck you and leave but I loved you, I love you. A small part of me knew you loved me too, you love me. I was right. One late night you looked at me and said I’m sorry. I’m ready to focus on us. I haven’t looked back since.
You were my first love. Puppy love. Playground love. High school sweetheart. College sweetheart. Sparklers in Chinatown love.
We did great for awhile. Everyone envied our love, it was pure. It was innocent.
It’s crazy how comfort can change things.
No more phone calls until the early morning. No more love letters just because.
Just me and you and an hour and a half car ride or three hour train ride in between.
I don’t think it was enough for me. I wanted more. I wanted a fairy tale, movie romance. I wanted excitement. I wanted to travel. I wanted an apartment. I wanted real commitment. You just wanted to graduate college.
I got bored and you got rude.
I wanted attention but I got it from other men. Lust had no mercy on me.
I know I did love you but I don’t remember how it felt or where it went. It got lost in all the arguments. The multiple break ups. The soiled pillows. The kisses exchanged from people that weren’t you.
I somehow always found a way to blame everything on you.