I just feel so fucking calm when I think of you.
There are so many dumb little things sprinkled in and out of my days that I can’t wait to tell you about. But you just never sound like you wanna hear about nonsense from me. So I forget about it.
It’s in the precision and concentration of his touch, and the unabashed and brutally honest words that drip from his mouth when he’s running his hands across my skin, as if he’s thinking out loud to himself and he can’t believe that I’m there with him. It’s in the haphazard way that he intertwines his fingers with mine, walking down the street, sitting in my passenger seat, and laying in his bed. There’s an honesty in awkward, unrehearsed comments that I’ve always craved when I’m constantly battered with tried and true smoothness that seems to be dripping in condescendence and the idea that this worked previously and is delivered without a stutter, without a pause, without an incorrect word usage. Give me the awkward silences and the unsure words, the hesitant fingers and the overlapping limbs. I could have laid there forever listening to how fast your heart was beating beneath the palm of my hand. I’ve seen the game and the filler, and I’ve seen the scared and the real; and I’m finally at the point where I’ll choose the latter every single time.
Congratulations on your big day. Better her than me.
In the longterm, I’m never mad at the men that come into my life and then choose to leave it. Each one is a lesson. A story. A stepping stone. Each is teaching me a little bit more about myself and what I want. And better yet, what I don’t want.
I’m only ever mad at myself. For the passing moments that they convince me that I’m any less amazing than I actually am. For letting them in, for being hopeful, for letting myself believe it was more than it was. For wasting my time. For missing them.
Indiscretions remind me to miss you. At least you were real. At least you gave me more than I’ve ever gotten.
If I’ve learned anything about dating and relationships, it’s that everything is always great until it’s not anymore. On the day that consistency finds me, I’ll change my tune. And when someone acts like they want to be taken seriously; I will do just that.
It’s crazy how fast all the things you found endearing become annoying once he shows you his true colors.
Why can’t I take the best of each and wrap them up into a neat little package, tied with a bow? Ideal circumstances, no curveballs. I am a control freak perfectionist. I am a spoiled, petulant little girl, and nothing is ever enough. My pride and my insatiability will ultimately be my downfall. Maybe not today.. but some day.
If wanting to be fucked well on a regular basis makes me thirsty; then so be it.
I’ve already forgiven the universe for getting it wrong for a minute there. I don’t know if we ever would have been into one another as much as we were into the idea of one another. I don’t know if there would have been such fire between us if both of our heads weren’t in such rampant disarray. Worst of all, I still don’t know if I meant a thing. But I do know that our wires got crossed. I know that it was too fast, too intense, and I wanted it too badly for all the wrong reasons. I know that it still reduces me to tears if I think about it too hard, and I know that I would have completely lost my ability to do anything but try to make you happy, had you let me. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for not letting me. We somehow managed to catapult off of one another and into an infinitely better place without quite letting go of each other’s hands. This is how it should be, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
I hate how well you get me.
Sometimes I just need to listen to Jack’s Mannequin in abundance just to remind myself that I’m here, and I’m okay, and I’m alive, and I got this.
I’m falling for you, like a steady faucet drip. But who cares, really? In the next three weeks, it’ll only intensify. Full blast. I’ll probably be yours entirely by the time you board that plane. But what does it matter?
I’m fully aware of the fact that I’m not your soulmate. But maybe if you stop worrying about that, we could enjoy each other’s company.