Tag: humor

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To Being Ghosted, Guilty, and Going Back to the Gym

How Getting Ghosted Jumpstarted My Villain Arc

So, I got ghosted this week. Kind of. Like I did, but then I didn’t? Just allow me to take you guys on the rollercoaster of a week I had.

Dec 1st, 2025

To not completely dox the guy I am going to be talking about, we are going to refer to him as “Devil”. (yes, him)

Devil and I had been on and off for two years until this September when we started talking again (Count one, guilty). Everything was going well between us—consistent. So much so that in November we decided to be exclusive. My mom even knows about him.

“Are you going to see Devil?” she would always ask whenever I came to her house. He became a household name.

“Are you going to invite Devil to Thanksgiving?” my stepdad, Perry, asked one time. I didn’t, of course. I didn’t feel comfortable bringing any man home until I was officially their girlfriend. I’m glad I stood firm on that belief because it would’ve been awkward trying to tell my parents that the guy they just met on Thanksgiving ghosted me not even a week later.

—————-

The night before, I had asked Devil to tell me all the things he liked about me. I’m a girl who loves to hear why you enjoy my presence. My words of affirmation girls can understand.

I liked Devil, a lot.
He was funny, adventurous, and interesting. I enjoyed our dates, the sex was good, and sometimes I felt like he just gets me.

His Kryptonite? Emotionally unavailable. My seven-year-old nephew is better at expressing himself.

Getting Devil to open up is like pulling teeth.

Asking him that question, I knew that whatever I wanted to hear, he wasn’t going to say (Count two, guilty).

But, nonetheless, I asked. And waited.

And waited.

I texted him again, and explained that he just wants to make sure his responses is “loaded.”

I didn’t hear from him again that whole night.

That Monday morning (Dec 1st), he texted me, “Good morning.”

Because I was upset by his lack of response, I decided not to respond right away. I was upset, and rightfully so; I didn’t care. I decided to be petty and wait a couple of hours.

When I finally did respond, I told him why I was upset and why I didn’t respond—how it made me feel rejected.

Then I waited for his response.

And waited.

And waited.

At this point, it’s been three hours. At one point, I thought he died until I saw him repost a video on TikTok.

So, I called him.

Did he answer? No.

I thought to myself, he’s probably upset because I responded late to his text. (Count three, guilty)

December 2nd, 2025

“I think I’m getting ghosted.”

It’s 3 p.m., I’m at work, and I still haven’t heard from Devil. This was the first morning in four months where I didn’t get a ‘Good Morning’ text on my phone.

I assumed he woke up mad still, but it’s almost midday and I still haven’t heard from him.

I was talking to my co-worker, Austin, who was by no means the perfect person to tell your relationship troubles to. But, I was anxious, and I needed to talk to someone, quick.

Austin kept telling me that he probably cut me off for another girl, which did not calm my nerves, so thank you again, Austin. My stomach turned into knots just at the thought of it. My gut was telling me that, that wasn’t the case. But my brain couldn’t rationalize any other reason for his disappearance.

By 3:06 PM, I texted him again.

“What is your problem? Why aren’t you answering any of my calls or texts??“

By 8 PM, I was home, drunk, cooking, blasting Rico Nasty, and there was still no response from Devil.

I was angry, hurt, and confused.

Three glasses of wine later, (that I spiked with Patron) I decided that he will hear from me, one way or another.

I called him four times, one of which I called using *67.

Still, no response.

He was definitely ignoring me. It wasn’t like he was dead or anything (even though a small part of me hoped he was).

I reread our last conversation over and over.

Did I really miss something? What could I possibly have said to provoke such an extreme reaction? The last time we hung out was November 29th. I was at his house, just finishing wrestling (if you know, you know), and we were playing those games on YouTube where you guess the theme song of a TV show.

Literally my dream date.

My mind couldn’t grasp that he was ghosting me. It just didn’t make sense.

After all this time, did I mean nothing to him?

December 3rd, 2025

Waking up that morning, I felt empty.

Last night, on my fourth glass of wine and a smoke session with my sister, everything that I was trying not to feel wrapped me in a hug.

Getting ready for work felt like getting ready for World War II.

My sister was getting ready for the day, and I questioned if I should tell her what’s been going on between Devil and me.

A part of me didn’t want to say anything last night during our smoke session for the small chance that he’ll text me and say that it was a misunderstanding. After sitting on it for a minute, I realized that I needed to say something, or I’m going to feed and encourage the delusion.

“Devil ghosted me,” I said softly to Maleah.

Her eyes widened, and she immediately came to my side, “What happened?” she asked.

I told her how I hadn’t heard from him and that he’s alive and well, just ignoring me.

I knew telling Maleah meant there was no point of return for Devil and me. Maleah was all about revenge.

“Fuck him, want to get his page deleted?” She suggested.

I wanted to tell her I would much rather she find a way for him to text me. Instead, all I said was “yes.”

Our friend and roommate Kay, who also got into an argument with her boyfriend— it was a stupid argument, but it was enough for her to join me in my bundle of emotions: rage, confusion, and hurt.

In the end, we agreed that evil women need to be on the rise.

“We entered a flow state of hating niggas” Kay expressed as she was pacing back and forth.

At work, I couldn’t focus on anything.

Devil ghosted me.

I had Maleah and Kay report devils instagram page from both their main and spam accounts. I needed to do something. Something that would disrupt his peace, as he did mine.

At work, I did absolutely nothing.

Instead, I put his number under every spam notification he could receive from anywhere.

Scientology, the Navy, healthcare quotes, car quotes, the military.

I even made a request for Jehovah’s Witnesses to make a visit to his house that Saturday afternoon.

He obviously didn’t have any morals.

He wanted to ignore my texts and calls? Fine.

Now he’d have to ignore the calls/texts from 60 different sites I found.

December 4th, 2025

That day, I finally decided to get out of my funk. I told myself I was going back to the gym to do a full reset. Before doing that, I was curious to understand why people ghost.

I asked my friend Daija if she had ever been ghosted or if she had ever ghosted anyone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been ghosted, and if I did, then I didn’t like them enough.”

She explained that she has ghosted a lot of people.

“When I end up ghosting someone, it’s because I know it won’t go anywhere or they’re really weird, and I’d rather not have that conversation with them and then they start bashing me, like Blake.”

Blake was a guy Daija dated for maybe for a week or two. By that second week, we found out that he had also dated a friend of mine.

“Or your gay friend Cole,” she said.

Cole was not gay, and his name was Collin.

Was ghosting now the norm? The safe option when wanting to end things was someone else’s worst nightmare.

“I low key ghosted Braden also, but he ghosted me first.”

Braden was the first evil light skin to be created, I am sure of it.

He would essentially do the push-pull method. One minute he was all about Daija, showing and giving affectionate and then the next minute, he’d ghost her.

She showed me a screenshot of one of the last things she sent to him.

“On your life, I hate you”

Men really know how to strike a nerve and get you to do and say the most evil things.

I decided to ask my other friend—let’s call her Zee—the same question.

She ghosted many people because of bad hangouts, boredom, or until she felt like they weren’t convenient to her anymore. She wanted to make it known that for the people she ghosted, there was no emotional connection between her and those who were ghosted.

“Have you been ghosted before?” I asked her.

She said “Yes.” When she got ghosted, she was in denial.

“They can’t be ghosting me,” she said.

The first stage of being ghosted? Being in denial.

I asked her why she thinks people in our age group always resort to ghosting, rather than communicating that they are now uninterested.

“I think it’s convenient. There are too many steps to commitment. The structure of dating has made it so efficient to disappear. Because there are no labels, you can feel better walking away because that wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“Do you think we will ever get to that point in our generation, where ghosting someone will become taboo?” I asked.

Almost everyone I know has ghosted someone or had been ghosted. Or both.

Even as I am writing this, I have ghosted a few people before. How come everyone in their 20s believes that ghosting someone is easier than telling the person they are talking to that they want to end things? When did we let fear drive our love lives?

“No, there is too much grey area. It’s too normalized. People aren’t even in situationships; they have made it to humiliation-ships. There are too many non-relationships.”

Was she right?

Is this our generation’s future when it comes to dating?

Send the flood.

December 5th, 2025

I was at the gym when a close male friend called me.

Let’s call him Umar.

I asked him the same question I asked Zee and Daija.

“Have you ever been ghosted and/or have you ever ghosted someone?”

I wanted to get a man’s opinion on this topic. (Count four, guilty)

“A bitch ain’t never ghosted me let’s s start there!” he said. Very on brand.

“How many people have you ghosted?”

“This year?” he questioned.

Divas, we are doomed.

“Ghosting is such a weird term; if we’ve only been texting for three days, why am I explaining to you that I don’t like you at all?” he explained.

“Have you ghosted someone with whom you were emotionally invested?” I asked.

“I ghosted this girl about a month ago because we were supposed to hook up, and then she got out of the shower, bent over, and it just stunk. I got out of that situation and went home,” he said.

I didn’t know what I expected to hear, but it wasn’t that.

He went on to explain that she was very cool, but her getting out of the shower and still having a body odor was just something he couldn’t get over.

Did Umar make the right call? Was this one of the few times it was appropriate to ghost someone?

He said that was the longest he had talked to someone before ghosting them.

I asked if any of his male friends ghosted anyone.

“Yeah, a lot of times, the girls think that they are ‘the one’ after a month or two, and they start losing their marbles. They end up scaring the guy off.”

I started to wonder at what point should girls feel like they are ‘the one’ if the two-month mark is too early.

Personally, I want to tell a man I love him after going out for two weeks. Have I done it? Of course not.

How should women know if they are the one if the man doesn’t say it? Is the silence their answer?

“Why do you think ghosting is normalized in our generation?” I asked him.

“It’s so easy to get in contact with somebody. In our parents’ generation, if they didn’t want to see someone or deal with them, it was a lot easier to get rid of them. In our generation, we all have phones. It’s easier to get in contact with someone now than before. So getting rid of a woman is harder.“

He then goes on to say, “Now you got FaceTime, get your homegirl to call him, she can get you on Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, she can call your momma. Friday night she can pop up at the club looking for you.”

“I also feel like we’re not the generation to talk much; we’re not into explaining ourselves. It’s too vulnerable. We don’t even dance in the club anymore. We’re not comfortable expressing ourselves. So a lot of times, if we don’t want to deal with certain things anymore, we choose to just not talk anymore,” he finally says.

I asked him if a man ghosts a woman after they have been dating for four months, what should the woman do. Was this question about me? Yes.

Sue me. I’m mourning.

“4 months? Oh, I’m not gonna lie, I might lose my play card about that one. I need to know now, that’s four months—120 days. I know you a little bit now.”

Should I just say fuck it and lose my play card? Spam call him or pop up at his house?

December 6th, 2025

That morning, my conversations with Austin, Daija, Zee, and Umar hung in the air like a black cloud.

I needed to know why.

So, I went on Instagram, unblocked Devil, and texted him. (Count five, guilty)

Me: Can you just tell me what happened?

Me: Was there another girl or something? I just want to know what made you not say ANYTHING for five days. I will not bother you anymore.

The last line was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that.

After 30 minutes, there was no response.

He is just that evil, I thought to myself.

Until, a notification from Instagram came to my phone.

It was him. He had finally said something.

He explained that he couldn’t think of more reasons to answer the question I asked him the night before he decided to turn into Casper.

Me: So you’re telling me because you couldn’t think of an answer, you decided to ignore me for five days? Not return any of my texts or calls?

Him: Yes

Me: What the fuck is wrong with you?

I was so angry it felt like I couldn’t even type. I had completely forgotten that at the big age of twenty-seven, the big two seven, 27, his emotional capacity was that of a 4-year-old.

I would’ve preferred there was another girl involved. At least that would make sense.

Him: You should find someone who can fulfill what you need from a partner. I know we said we’ll take it slow, but I don’t want to weigh down your time by being indecisive.

Duh.

I mean, the absolute nerve of him. As if he hadn’t wasted the past 5 days. It was all he was good for.

I told him I didn’t understand him ghosting me and watching me reach out for communication, constantly meeting me with silence.

Him: I didn’t want to deal with whatever the aftermath of that would have been.

Me: You mean you didn’t want to deal with the consequences of your own actions?

He replied, “not yet.”

I officially lost my cool. I just couldn’t contain the anger.

I told him how he didn’t want to own up to his actions and instead of being a man and talking to me like we’re grown fucking adults, he ignored me like a child.

“We been texting and seeing each other for four months straight and you randomly ignore me? That was your solution? Because you couldn’t use your words? Or was scared of my reaction? Grow the fuck up, seriously.

I don’t know when exactly I finally hit a nerve with him; maybe it was when I questioned his masculinity or age. Regardless, I struck something because he immediately told me, “You got it, Bye Aliah,” and blocked me.

Honestly, I felt so much better. Grateful, even. I knew what he was before we started “dating,” but not to this extent. He was a man-child. Shout out to Sabrina, for real.

December 7th, 2025

This whole week felt fake. As I was going through it emotionally, physically I’ve been up. I started eating more clean, like I eat turkey bacon now??

I’ve been to the gym every day and been running on the treadmill, like don’t play.

In the beginning of the week, I was heartbroken and confused. Now that we are at the end, I feel grounded and sure. I didn’t miss out on anyone that wasn’t for me.

Devil was not my person. And that’s okay, great even. I needed him to mess up one more time for me to finally let go.

My friend Olivia told me that sometimes you have to keep going back to a man to finally let him go.

Was she right? Yes.

Will that be the theme of my love life? No.

Next year I turn 25 and there are some things that I just simply won’t allow anymore.

To my Ballads who have been ghosted or got their heart broken this year, I challenge you guys to fill your own cup. Go to the gym, make more money, spend time with your friends, and choose you.

And don’t ghost people!!!!!! Unless you want them to write about you in their Blog (Count six, guilty)

Love, Aliah 💕

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blog dating

Horoscope Horrors

I think it’s time, my beautiful ballads, that we have the conversation.

Astrology — you either hate it or love it. In my opinion, it’s almost like discussing politics. It’s a sore subject. Almost. You have people who are deep into it, could care less, or are somewhere in the happy medium.

Regardless of whether we want to talk about astrology or not, it’s real, and it’s happening. So let’s get into it.

Before I start, I want to preface this: No, I do not rule out any guy romantically solely because of their sign or anything of the sort. However, I do move with caution. And let me explain which signs.

First up on the chopping board:

  • 1. Pisces Men

I genuinely believe that when women gave birth between the dates of February 19th and March 20th, Satan was in the delivery room screaming, “Twin!”

My first time romantically dealing with a Pisces man was in high school — a two-year relationship full of lies, deception, and manipulation. That man traumatized me so badly that, to this day, if I’m talking to a man and he mentions he’s a Pisces, I sincerely get war flashbacks.

Don’t get me wrong, I still try to give them a chance, but the horrors!

Talking to other women or just typing “surviving a Pisces man” on social media feels like we need to start a support group after dealing with one.

One out of every five women you meet will have a Pisces horror story. Ask at least five women in your life right now if they’ve ever dealt with a Pisces man, and watch them shudder in tragedy.

And it sucks because as a Virgo, Pisces is our sister sign. And I love Pisces women. They’re emotional, dreamy, spicy, and headstrong.

I don’t know where the disconnect happened between Pisces men and Pisces women.

My advice on dating a Pisces man?

Convince them to get a lobotomy — girl, I don’t know. Just run and seek therapy

  • 2. Gemini Men

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

You goddamn Geminis.

I’ve never officially dated a Gemini (survivor), but I’ve had my fair share of getting to know them to empathize with my ballads who have.

I only ever had a crush on a Gemini man, and I was already going through emotional warfare.

We started off as friends — always trying to make each other laugh, wanting to be near each other all the time — and then one day, I woke up like,

“I think I wanna kiss my friend??”

So fun.

Nonetheless, we gave it a “shot”… for a week.

Next thing you know, his texts started coming in later, and we were talking less and less. We talked, agreed to stop being friends, and then — that following week — he posted his ex for WCW.

(Yes, this was in high school, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.)

Geminis are tricky — they’re sly. Their personalities can hide how awful they actually are to date.

They’re also stereotypically two-faced. And honestly? I get it.

In the stages before actually dating them, they’re fun to be around, exciting, and no days are alike. But once you finally get them on lockdown, their mask starts to slip.

I think they like the chase.

Once they get you, they no longer feel the need to court you or try as hard.

And for that, they deserve prison time — and the #2 spot on my list.

  • 3. Cancer Men

This one hurt to put on the list because my close friend is a Cancer man.

With that being said, I can understand why women lock their doors and close their curtains when they hear a Cancer man is on the prowl.

Cancers are the “mothers” of the zodiac. The feminine.

The thing is, when the universe was making the signs, they should’ve reserved that role for women only.

I think Cancers as a whole are very intuitive, emotionally attuned, and caring. They have so many great qualities.

Their downfall?

They use their powers to manipulate and hurt girls.

(Not you, friend.)

Their betrayal hurts so much because you least expect it.

You let your guard down, open up to them, have intimate moments — do the whole shindig. They’re water signs, so being vulnerable is almost innate to them.

The problem? They’re water signs.

They’re emotional.

They will not shy away from telling or showing you how they feel.

In hindsight, that sounds like a good thing, right? Right???

I saw a girl on TikTok say,

“Dating a Cancer man is almost like dating a woman.”

And on that note, I think we can end it there.

To my ballads who are dating a Cancer man:

I hope you and your girlfriend are happy and well.

  • Honorable Mention #1: Virgo Men

I’ve heard terrible things about dating Virgo men.

They can be cold, distant, and of course, toxic.

The reason they are not on my list?

They make me laugh.

And I have to be biased — I’m a Virgo woman.

I’ve only had two short flings with Virgo men.

The first one? I met almost four years ago, and we’re still on good terms. At least once every two months, we talk about how we’re going to get married.

The other one stole my winter coat  for about a month… but was an amazing kisser.

So y’know. Duality

  • 4. Aries Men

THIS one hurt to put on the list because I absolutely love Aries. I think they’re so sweet.

The first person I ever got with after my first relationship was an Aries man.

He was also my first-ever situationship.

And the reason I had a trauma bond with Olivia Rodrigo’s album, SOUR.

But guys — he was SO sweet. Like, before everything turned shitty.

(I have problems.)

I think Aries men are way better as friends than romantic partners.

They try so hard not to be the bad guy that, eventually… they end up being the bad guy.

Which is so unfortunate.

As a friend, they’re funny, sweet, maybe even a little exciting.

But the moment you take the relationship to the next step — almost like Gemini men — a switch in their brain flips.

Everything you once liked about them? You now hate.

They can be hot and cold. One minute they’re all about you… and the next?

They’ve found someone else to obsess over.

Dating them feels like having to perform for their love and adoration 24/7 — and it gets exhausting.

And when you finally stop performing?

They show you why they’re a fire sign.

They will argue. They’ll counteract anything you say and invalidate your feelings in the process.

Dating them is like having a headache… but not taking any aspirin because you love them.

Sigh. Sayonara, sisters. Good luck.

  • Honorable Mention #2: Aquarius Men

One word: LIARS

  • 5. Leo Men

I am a Leo man magnet. I only attract Leos.

Now, you’re probably thinking, “Aliah, why aren’t they higher on your list?”

Well, my beautiful reader — it’s because a Leo man can still bamboozle me.

I know. I’M SICK.

But they are so attractive, so charming, so exciting… and again, attractive.

Maybe I like them so much because I’m a Leo rising.

So, when I come in contact with a Leo man, it feels familiar.

My first experience with a Leo man was in 2022. Whew. I remember that shit like it was yesterday.

He was bad, funny, well-dressed, and charmed my pants off.

Ever since then, all I’ve been attracting are Leo men.

The problem?

They all have commitment issues.

They are so sexy they feel the need to share it with everyone.

If you can lock down a Leo — kudos, and please share with the class.

They don’t want to be tied down.

Dating a Leo man means you have to accept that you’re essentially dating a slut.

A really fine and funny slut.

That Leo man I dated back in 2022?

I just recently had to put him on the chopping block.

Had to let my slut go and unfriend him on every social media platform, because every time he posted himself, my ovaries started barking.

Leo men use their beauty and charm to distract you from:

    1.    Getting to actually know them, and

    2.    Keeping you under their spell.

Do I still love my Leo men? Unfortunately.

Do I have any advice on how to handle one? Not really.

Best I can say is to ignore them and admire them from afar.

——————-

In all honesty, dating a man — regardless of his zodiac sign — is a risk.

And right now? We’re in a recession.

So you just gotta pick your risk and hope the odds are forever in your favor.

It’s the zodiac Hunger Games

Categories
blog

I Think I Fumbled My Future Husband

And the dating pool? Full of piss and piranhas

I think I’m ready to date again.

I wish I could say that enthusiastically—truly. But the dating scene right now is terrible. The dating pool not only has piss in it, but also piranhas.

I haven’t been on a date since July 2024, and I haven’t dated anyone since November 2023. My love life has been ridiculously dry. Ain’t no one on this phone but SHEIN updates.

But I wasn’t mad at it. Since November—when Devil completely demolished my heart (iykyk)—I took my time of solitude to really reassess my dating life.

One of my favorite artists, Olivia Rodrigo, once talked about her writing process for the song Favorite Crime—which, by the way, I totally trauma-bonded with.

She explained that it’s easy to place the blame on the other person for breaking your heart, but it’s hard to recognize and admit that you played a hand in breaking your own.

And after that breakup in November, I did just that.

The Problem with Dating Now

I became desensitized to the idea of dating. My interest in men took a massive decline. No one piqued my interest. I became restless when it came to my love life.

I tried to put myself out there and talk to a few different men, but I felt… nothing.

Eventually, I started dating this guy—let’s call him Smiles. He graduated college, was tall, nice, opened my car doors, always greeted me with flowers—a complete gentleman…

But he did nothing for me.

The Aidan vs. Mr. Big Effect

I felt like Carrie when she was dating Aidan.

I was so used to dating the Mr. Big archetype that when my Aidan finally came around, I couldn’t even appreciate him.

I felt like a dumb bitch. I felt like I was betraying the universe—like this was their gift to me, and I completely disregarded it.

Triggers I Didn’t Expect

I remember having Smiles over at my apartment after one of our dates. We were watching TV, talking, and at one point, he wrapped his arm around me.

And I tensed up—so quickly. I didn’t even know why at first.

The last time I let a man touch me so innocently, so gently, was with Devil. It was the first time I was allowing a man to physically get close to me again.

And all he was doing was putting his arm around me.

I tried to ignore it.

I told myself it had just been a minute. I’d been touch-deprived for months—I just needed to ease into it.

By this time, it was April. Five months since I broke things off with Devil. I thought I was ready.

Boy, was I wrong.

It wasn’t until Smiles pulled me closer and kissed me. I kissed him back… and three seconds later, I started crying.

I literally had to suck the tears that were threatening to fall back into my eyelids.

I didn’t even know why I was crying.

Luckily, he didn’t notice—because honestly, I would not have known how to explain that.

And if that wasn’t bad enough…

He offered to give me head.

And I declined.

WHO DECLINES FREE HEAD????

And no shade, but it looked like he could eat.

He eventually ended up leaving, and we made plans for our next date. The minute I closed the door after walking him out, I cried.

At the time, I genuinely thought I was ready to date again. But after that encounter, I realized just how wrong I was.

I knew I had to cut things off with Smiles—but I didn’t know how.

The Self-Sabotage Begins

I was doing that thing that men do when they tell you, “I’m not looking for anything serious, but I would like to keep seeing you.” #WomenInMaleFields

So, going against my better judgment, I decided to keep dating Smiles.

We texted almost every day. I still went on dates with him—though he wanted to see me way more than I wanted to see him.

I was determined to make this work.

It had to work.

I wasn’t sure when a guy like him would come around again. He was like a rare jewel.

But since we’re family here, I’ll be honest.

Yes, he was a sweet gentleman…

But was he my type?

He was funny, I guess. But physically?

He wasn’t my type.

Yes, he was tall. Yes, he had some tattoos. But he wasn’t bad. 

You know what I mean—he wasn’t fine shyt

Still, a part of me felt obligated to give it a shot because I thought I deserved to be with a guy like that.

A guy who planned dates.

A guy who always opened the car door and greeted me with flowers.

I’ve yearned for that kind of love.

But… nothing in me ached for him.

He didn’t make me laugh.

I wasn’t fully attracted to him.

When he kissed me, I felt absolutely nothing.

He just wasn’t it.

And it pissed me off.

You’d think that after dating the literal Devil, I would leap into the arms of my knight in shining armor.

But Thankfully… I’m Not Totally Carrie

I actually talked to Smiles. I told him how I felt.

I explained that I had just gotten out of a relationship where the wounds were still fresh—still open. That he was the first person I’d even considered seeing since that, and I still needed more time.

Do I think he heard every word that came out of my mouth? Yes.

Do I think it mattered to him? No.

Because right after that, he pulled me into a hug and kissed me again—this time more passionately. Like a loving kiss could somehow erase the fact that the last guy I dated lied to me for six months and was also seeing a girl who did coke and ketamine.

Did I kiss him back to try and match the tension and passion? Yes.

Did I hate every second of it? Absofuckinglutely.

The Breakup Text

Eventually, I moved back home. Physically, I was away from him.

But we still texted every day.

And when he started asking for my address, asking what days he should travel to come see me—I knew it was time.

The guilt kept rising because I knew I was leading him on.

So I did what every woman hates when a man does it to avoid commitment:

“Hey Smiles, I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship. I need to focus on myself and figure out what I want.”

Again, Women In Male Fields.

If you’re reading this and want to choke slam me through the screen, I completely understand.

And if you’re reading this and want to extend grace, hit my line—because I’ve got a few more stories I need to share.

As I’m typing this, almost a year since my “relationship” with Smiles, I wish I could say I regret it. Or that I want to reach out.

But I don’t.

Maybe nice guys do finish last.

Maybe it was the right person at the wrong time.

Or maybe… we just weren’t compatible.

Trying to make something work just because it feels like it should doesn’t mean it will.

The minute I had to force it was the minute I should’ve pulled back.

But come on, y’all would’ve done it too—for a check.

Since Smiles… nothing.

I haven’t dated anyone since him.  (Went on one date after him but I refuse to talk about that story until my lawyers are present.)

It’s been a year and some change now.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be “100%” ready to date again—but I’m pretty damn close.

I didn’t even realize I was craving romantic love until I had a dream that I had a boyfriend.

A man I’ve never even met.

Like it’s gotten so bad in the real world, the universe had to bless me in my subconscious. Literally throwing me a bone.

So if you’re single right now, let this be our season.

Date. Explore your options.

What’s the worst that could happen?

We get demoralized by a man’s actions?

Literally nothing new.

I’m excited to take y’all on this ‘dating’ journey.

And let’s pray I don’t run into any more Devils because y’all will have to start a go fund me for my bail. 

Till next time, my lovely Ballads💕
Categories
blog romance

Angel Meets Devil

Angel Meets Devil
Chapter 3

Charles Baudelaire – The Flowers of Evil:

“It is the Devil’s cunning to pretend to be simple and make us believe that we are all innocent.”

“Why the snake?” Angel asked, curiosity lacing her voice. The tattoo suited him, she thought. There was something about Devil—dark, alluring, unpredictable. He kept her on her toes, never saying quite what she expected. It scared her in a way that oddly soothed her overthinking mind.

“I just thought it looked cool,” he said with the same casualness that seemed to define him. His answer was so laid-back, so effortless. Angel almost envied it. When it came to her own tattoos, she could spend hours explaining the meaning behind each one, each design carefully chosen, each memory ingrained in her skin.

She noticed his gaze shift to her Godspeed tattoo, and she offered an explanation without him needing to ask. “I got this one because of a song by Frank Ocean. It’s about loving someone so deeply, but knowing you have to part ways, even though you don’t want to. I feel things intensely, and when I have to let go, it takes me a long time to do it. But I always end up doing it because…well, it’s the right thing to do.”

As she spoke, their hands brushed against each other, both of them tracing the delicate lines of her tattoo. Every time his thumb grazed her wrist, where the ink rested, Angel lost track of her thoughts, her words slowing as the sensation took over. His touch felt electric, a quiet, thrilling charge that left her dizzy. She couldn’t focus on anything except the way his skin felt against hers, and the warmth that radiated between them. She could live in this forever.

Devil pointed to her moon tattoo next, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And the moon? Why the moon, moon girl?” he teased.

She grinned, mimicking the answer he gave her earlier. “I thought it looked cool,” she said, laughter filling up between them. He shook his head, his laugh low and easy.

“But really,” she continued, her tone softening as her fingers brushed over the tattoo, “I love the moon. It comforts me. It’s always there, even when you can’t see it. And obviously beautiful.”

Her eyes shifted from the tattoo to his, and for a moment, everything felt still. The music, the moonlight, the way they sat so close yet so carefully apart—it all made the air feel heavier, charged with an unspoken understanding between them. 

The car hummed softly as they fell into a peaceful silence, only the faint music in the background keeping them company. Angel let her head rest against the seat, feeling at ease. She reached out to caress Devil’s arm, his touch warm as he continued tracing small patterns on her skin. It was nice, almost too nice. She could feel herself sinking into the moment, wondering if she could stay like this forever.

Every so often, their eyes would meet again, and each time the connection felt a little deeper. Angel couldn’t help but laugh softly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. This man is going to kill me, she thought. The intensity of the quiet moments between them was almost overwhelming, but in a way she didn’t want to escape.

“You have a pretty smile,” Devil suddenly said, his voice breaking the silence but in the softest, most sincere way.

Angel smiled back, her heart fluttering. “Thank you,” she said quietly, then added, “You have pretty eyes.” She meant it—the way his eyes seemed to lock on hers made her feel seen in a way that was new to her. Just by looking into his eyes, she felt like she knew him. Like she could tell him anything. It was captivating. 

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said, still holding her gaze with that same unspoken warmth.

Angel glanced down and noticed that, somewhere in the middle of their comfortable silence, they had started holding hands. He was gently caressing her thumb with his, tracing small, delicate circles. It was a simple touch, but it sent waves through her. She couldn’t stop smiling, feeling that strange combination of excitement and calm she never expected.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she raised their interlocked hands to her lips and planted a soft kiss on Devil’s hand. The action was instinctive, so quick that it didn’t register until her lips pulled away.

She hesitated, too nervous to look up at him, but curiosity got the best of her. Slowly, she peeled her gaze toward Devil, searching for his reaction. Before she could process her own uncertainty, he mirrored her, lifting their hands to his lips and placing a small kiss on her skin.

His lips were soft, sending a wave of warmth that traveled through her arm. There was something about the sweetness of the moment, something Angel wasn’t used to. Devil had a way of making her feel… affectionate. Her fingers continued to trace the lines of his arm, her lips trailing gentle kisses from his hand to his forearm. This was unfamiliar territory, yet it felt so natural—for him, for Devil. He brought these small, tender parts of her to life. And she was happy to oblige.

And Devil returned the favor.

Angel wasn’t used to this type of sweetness. It wasn’t as though she had dated men who were mean or unkind, but it was the ease of it all that caught her off guard. She welcomed it, never wanting to let it go.

“So… what was your first impression of me?” Devil asked, still caressing her hand but avoiding her gaze this time.
Is he… nervous? Angel wondered. She had thought she was the only one wrapped up in her own head, but maybe Devil was, too. The thought comforted her. It reassured her that this—whatever this was—scared him a little bit, too.

https://balladsofthe20somethings.blog/2025/05/03/angel-meets-devil-4/
Categories
blog

“Where’s The Light?”

This is a story about 2 girls who left their friend group to go use a bathroom. Nothing crazy. Simple task. What could possibly go wrong?

“Okay, everybody out! It is now 2 a.m., the bar is closed!”

My friends and I were at Daddio’s, the bar we usually go to in downtown Normal, Illinois. We were hot—figuratively and literally—had to pee, and still wanted to squeeze in one last hoorah.

“Y’all, where’s the afterparty? The night can’t be over!” our friend Wendy exclaimed. She was finally free to be out and spend time with us after being tied up with her sorority. Not in a hostage kind of way—more like she had been committed to bonding with her sisters. Anyway, Wendy was just happy to be outside, and we were happy to have her.

Lani, looking down at her phone, finally looked up and said, “My friend says to pull up to this address. They’re having a little get-together.” Lani either knew everyone on campus, or everyone knew her. Regardless, she was well-connected—at least in my opinion.

“Ladies, please figure out your whereabouts OUTSIDE the bar.”

We turned around to see our favorite security guard, Steve. He wore a black shirt with SECURITY printed on it, black pants, and a black hat perched backward on his head. He stood like a brick wall, his rough gray beard and mustache made him look even more serious than he actually was. Anytime we went downtown and saw Steve, we knew we were getting in. Some might call that a toxic pipeline to alcohol and partying—we called it making another friend. Or maybe we were just girls who liked to have fun.

“Steeeve!” we all exclaimed happily. We liked to believe we were always the highlight of his night. While he checked purses and IDs, we always made it a point to chat with him and make sure he was having a smooth shift.

“Steve, you’re really gonna kick us out like you did the others?” my twin sister, Maleah, asked.

“I absolutely have to, ladies. They’re telling me everyone needs to be out now. Get home safe.” He smiled while also gently pushing us toward the door.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” he muttered under his breath as we were brushing passing him, but the way he said it , it was clear he knew we would.

We walked outside, still trying to figure out whether we were calling it a night or keeping the party going.

“Oh my God, y’all, look at that car!” Wendy said, pointing at a blue Rolls-Royce parked nearby. As we inched closer, we saw the infamous starry-night interior roof. The polished black exterior gleamed under the streetlights.

A tall, muscular, dark-skinned man stepped out from the passenger seat, approaching us with a huge smile.

“Sir, your car is so cool,” Maleah said first.

“Okay, not you riding around Normal in this,” Daija said jokingly.

“Thanks, I got this car last year. I drove down here from Chicago for my cousin’s birthday,” he started explaining. He went on about how he got the car, but I had the strange feeling of someone… watching me.

I turned around and noticed the guy I had been talking to on Snapchat—and briefly at the bar—staring at me. Let’s just call him D. When we locked eyes, he immediately started smiling.

Already uninterested in the guy with the cool car, I walked toward D, and his smile only widened.

“So you stalk me on Snapchat, show up at the same bar I’m at, and now you’re watching me? I feel obligated to let you know my dad’s a cop,” I half-joked.

We would text back and forth on Snapchat, and by back and forth, I mean him asking to see me and me constantly dodging it. Not on purpose—I just never found the time or cared enough to.

“I’m not following you. And besides, I see you’re busy flirting with dude over there,” D said, nodding toward the guy with the car. My friends were swarming it, asking if they could hop in.

Laughing and shaking my head, I asked, “If I was flirting with him, I don’t see how that would concern you.”

Unfortunately, I do love challenging a man. I was also still tipsy, so the confidence was taking over a little.

As D was about to respond, a tall but lean man with locs staggered toward us, looking ready to call it a night.

“D, I’m ready to go. All the bars are closed,” he said, not yet noticing me.

A little annoyed, D replied, “Okay, give me a minute, I’m talking.”

The unfamiliar guy looked me up and down, then grinned, wrapping an arm around D’s shoulders and leaning on him.

“Oh, my bad, cuzzo. I didn’t mean to interrupt. What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked, still smiling.

I gave a warm smile back. “Aliah. And you?”

“You can call me Tank,” he said, extending his hand for me to shake.

Just as I reached for it, I heard my name being called from behind.

“Aliah, what you doing over here?”

I turned around to see Daija walking toward me, her arms bundled up against her chest for warmth. That girl stays cold.

“Just talking,” I say. I almost forgot they were still over there by the car.

Smirking, Daija asks, “Who are you talking to?”

Daija and I were a nasty duo. Whenever we went out, I’d be her wingman or vice versa. And when we both drank, we became two extroverted girls who were unstoppable. We were the devils on each other shoulders.

She stands beside me and looks Tank and D up and down, almost as if she’s assessing whether they even have the right to be talking to me. She does a double take on D, and realization dawns on her face.

Pointing her finger at him, she says, “I remember you. You were talking to Aliah in the bar, trying to get her to stay when we were trying to hit the next spot.” She nearly laughs.

“So, what do you want with my homegirl?” she asks, finally crossing her arms—interrogating him but fighting back a smile.

Not able to contain my laugh, I start giggling because one thing about Daija is that when liquor hits her system, she gets blunt—especially when it comes to a man.

“Woah, woah, I should be asking your homegirl what she wants with my cousin,” Tank says, finally speaking up.

Taken aback, Daija looks Tank up and down and asks, “And who are you?”

Mimicking her, Tank folds his arms over his chest, looks her up and down, and smirks. “I’m Tank. Who are you?”

“Daija,” she says flatly, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

Quickly changing the subject, Daija turns to me. “Wendy, Maleah, and Lani are going for a ride in the Rolls-Royce.”

I turn around and see them all piling into the car.

Turning back to Daija, I shake my head. “I don’t really want to get in, and I also have to pee.”

“Girl, me too. I’ve been holding it forever,” Daija says. I glance down at her feet and notice she’s doing the little two-step she always does when she’s trying to hold her pee.

D finally speaks up and says, “Our apartment is right around the corner if y’all want to use the bathroom.”

Daija and I looked at each other, silently having a full conversation with our eyes.

Daija: Should we go?

Me: I don’t know… I do really have to pee.

Daija: Girl, me too, but what if we go and he kills us?

Me: Yeah, that’s a fair concern.

Daija:

Me:

Daija:

Me: Okay, let’s tell the girls where we’re going. They have our location. And, at the very least, D and Tank are short. Our chances of survival are higher just off that.

We both turned to look at D and Tank, who were giving us questionable looks. We sized them up. D stood only about 5’4”, maybe 5’5” on a good day, while his cousin, Tank, was pushing 5’6”. They were short kings.

Daija and I turned to each other again and burst out laughing.

“You girls are weird,” D said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Shut up,” Daija shot back.

“Okay, we’ll go, but I’m gonna let our friends know first,” I said.

I walked over to Maleah, Wendy, and Lani, who were already getting settled into the car, and told them the plan.

“So, Daija and I are gonna go to my friend’s apartment real quick to use the bathroom. What time will you guys be back so we can meet up?” I asked. They all had big smiles on their faces, excited for this joyride.

“Well, he’s gonna take us for a spin and then drop me off at my car, and we’re going to Wendy’s,” Lani told me.

Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned around to see Daija, still doing the 1-2 step, barely holding it together.

“What’s going on?” she asked, impatiently.

I tell her how they are going for a ride in the guys car and then he’s dropping them off in Lani’s car.

“Okay, well I was talking to D and he said he got a car and can drop us off wherever we need to go, so we can ride with him after we pee,” she says to me. She turns to Wendy and says, “Just let us know when y’all make it home so we can get in.”

We all nod in agreement to the plan, but before letting them go, I went behind the car and snapped a picture of the license plate and walked around to the driver seat, Daija following close behind, and came to the guys window.

“I got your License plate, so if my friends and sister are not where they need to be in 20 minutes, I’m calling the police,” I threaten.

The guy starts laughing but once he notices neither Daija or I wasn’t joking, he turns serious.

“I’m just taking them up the street and back and then I’m going to drop them at the parking lot where her car is,” he finally says. I nod my head and take a few steps back so he can pull off.

Daija and me walked towards D and Tank who were patiently waiting for us to check in with our friends.

“How far is this walk again?” I asked D. It was starting to get cold and I didn’t know how much longer I could hold my pee.

“Just 5 minutes,” he responds casually.

Looking back, the walk was probably 5 minutes, but to Daija and I the walk felt like the march to freedom.

“This walk isn’t five minutes” Daija complained loudly, dragging her feet.

“D, if you’re going to kill us, just do it. But don’t make us walk to our deaths– thats just cruel,” I cried out.

“I’ve never met two girls who complain more than you two,” Tank said, rolling his eyes.

“And we’re here,” D finally says.“We have to go around the back,” D explained, leading us to the back of their apartment complex, where all the cars were parked.

From the outside, it looked like a regular apartment, nothing fancy, but nothing that made us want to turn around and run, either. It wasn’t until we stepped inside that we started questioning.

We followed them into the apartment, and immediately we were met with a light that kept flickering, a smell that reeked of eggs and a wet dog and garbage all over the floor.

“Oh hell no” Daija mutter under her breath, disgust and horror plastered all over her face.

Daija and I looked at each other.

Me: I hope their apartment doesn’t look like this.

Daija: I hope their toilet don’t look like this. We pee and then we go.

We followed them up the stairs, trying not to laugh at the situation.

“We finna die,” I whispered to Daija, jokingly.

“I just want to pee,” Daija whispered back, desperation evident in her voice.

As we continued up the stairs, getting closer to their apartment, D turned to me and asked, “You gotta piss, right?”

I nodded, not even bothering to answer, because just as he asked, his cousin had already unlocked the door to their apartment. Have you ever seen a crime scene in a horror movie? Now imagine the victim being a pile of unfolded clothes, half-eaten food, and mysterious stains on a mattress. It was a one-bedroom loft where the bedroom doubled as the living room. Each time Daija and I looked around, we found something else we couldn’t unsee.

“Okay, here’s the bathroom,” D said, pointing to the door on the right.

Daija and I immediately made a beeline for the bathroom when D asked, “Oh, both of y’all gotta piss?” Why did he insist on saying “piss” instead of “pee”? No clue, but it only made the whole thing even more uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” we said in unison, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Y’all gonna share a bathroom?” D muttered under his breath, probably not expecting us to hear him.

“Yeah, y’all don’t do that?” I said, trying to make a joke while we practically sprinted to the bathroom.

“Weirdos,” Daija finally said, just before we both rushed into the bathroom.

Without a second thought, we slammed the door behind us and locked it. We turned to each other, eyes wide with panic and fear. Finally letting out our breaths

“Turn the light on,” Daija said, her voice tight.

I couldn’t take any of this seriously. I burst into laughter while Daija scrambled around, desperately searching for the light switch. We were cramped in the tiny bathroom, hands brushing the walls as we tried to flip the switch, hoping for some sign of light.

“Where’s the light?” Daija cried out, crossing her legs to hold back the floodgates—no, the piss gates. I wasn’t even trying to help. Instead, I silently giggled at the absurdity, knowing the guys outside could probably hear our little freak-out session, which only made it worse, and therefore, even funnier.

Daija pulled out her phone to use the flashlight, her eyes darting over every corner of the cramped bathroom, scanning for that elusive switch.

“Where’s the light?” she says, exasperated.

As she’s still scrambling to find the light, I noticed the door cracked open. We both reached to close it again, but it cracked open once more. The door was broken. We couldn’t even lock it, so to keep it shut, one of us had to keep a hand pressed against it.

So, the bathroom didn’t have a light, and it looked like it had witnessed things no bathroom should ever see. The mirror was smudged with god knows what, the sink had toothpaste stains all over it, the tiles on the floor were cracked, and the door wouldn’t even close. All I could do was laugh.

Daija, still holding her phone with the flashlight on, accepted defeat. She just pulled her pants down to pee, determined not to let her butt touch the toilet. She was still breathing heavily, and I was praying to God to take all my laughs and giggles out of me so I could lock in and focus.

Daija and I looked at each other, and she whispered, “Aliah, please.”

I completely lost it again. I was trying to get her to lower her voice because the apartment was so small, there was no way the guys couldn’t hear us.

“Daija, shut up,” I hushed back, holding the door with one hand while crossing my legs, praying to the heavens to not let me pee— no, piss—on myself from laughing.

We both realized we had no idea what we’d gotten ourselves into. The whole situation was unsettling, and once again, all we could do was laugh.

“I’m trying to pee faster, I swear. Bitch, this is the last time I will follow you anywhere,” Daija muttered when she noticed me doing the 1-2 step, trying to hold it in.

“Remember that scene in Scary Movie 2 when the pastor was on the toilet?” I said between laughs. Daija tried to hold it in, but a snort slipped out, making us both laugh even harder. Her snorts kept coming, each one louder than the last.

At this point, I was doing everything I could to get Daija to stop laughing.

“Daija!” I said between bursts of laughter. “Shh, shut up, stop!” I crossed my legs again, now praying to anyone who would listen to please not let me pee—piss—on myself.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying, I’m trying,” she said, tears forming in her eyes from all the laughter. We both took deep breaths, trying to steady ourselves, so we could get the hell out of there.

She finished, washed her hands, and we switched positions. She held the door with one hand and the other with holding her phone as a flashlight while I used the bathroom.

We left the bathroom, and noticed Tank was on his bed, watching TV, with D nowhere in sight.

“D went to the car to warm it up for y’all,” Tank told us.

We headed downstairs and outside, then hopped in the car with D, who took us to Wendy’s. The car ride was a silent one, Daija and me both traumatized, not wanting to utter a word. Our friends had made it back to Wendy’s place safe and sound, and that was the end of the night.

To our surprise, Wendy, Lani, and Maleah got pulled over while riding with the Rolls-Royce man, which made for a hilarious story. In return, we told them about surviving the bathroom from hell.

It was an eventful night—definitely one for the books.

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