I Don’t Want To Wait To Text You

I have never known how to play it cool. It is not part of my repertoire, not a skill I’ve perfected over the years. I am a chasm of a person. My heart is a giant opening, and if you look, you will see everything I’ve ever been.

I can’t keep my bad, my good, my mediocre hidden for very long. I spill out with secrets and stories. Like the time I lost my virginity and decided I wouldn’t tell my mother for a while — then crawled into her bed two nights later and cried in her arms. Or when I made up a fake boyfriend in middle school in a failed attempt to make my crush jealous. I will tell you it all, probably more than once.

I am a girl who can’t stop talking. Even when she should. My mouth is an Energizer Bunny because it’s the silence that scares me. It’s the silence that reminds me of endings. Of death. Of empty bedrooms and hospital hallways.

I don’t know how to be guarded when my heart gets invested. My walls are only built when I don’t trust. And the truth is, I trust most people. I trust the man who messed up my order or the woman who is walking her dog across from me. I want to believe that humanity is good and the shitty things aren’t representative of us all. So I will trust you. Fully. I will close my eyes and let you lead me blind. And it might be my own undoing. But it’s not my first merry-go-round.

I have learned how to brush off the dust and get back up. I have learned how to lose faith in people and, somehow, still trust again.

I always trust again.

I am messy and a Type A’s worst nightmare. My car resembles what I imagine my mind looks a bit like, with old coffee cups in the back and letters from people I love scattered about the front. I am afraid of throwing out things I might need. I am afraid of letting go of the people, the memories, the ones who have made me everything I am. What if I need this? Or that? I am an emotional hoarder. I keep birthday cards from my friend in 7th grade because of how much she meant to me in that year. Even if she doesn’t now.

I will cry in the movie theater and tense up when conflict arises. I don’t make eye contact when people yell. My soul is a mediator and cannot handle anyone being upset. But do not think this means I lack fire. I have been known to spit venom when people hurt those I love. My name means Lioness of God, so I will toss you to the hyenas if you try to go after anyone close to me. I am half Lion. I am half Lamb. And I will love you fiercely with all my parts, if you let me.

I like sharks and eating frozen yogurt in the car. I don’t want to wait to text you or see you. I want to eat falafel and go to the drive in movie. Or dance like fools on the empty baseball diamond in my neighborhood. Let’s wake up tomorrow in a different county and use our fingers as a compass. I don’t always make sense and neither do you. But my mess fits perfectly with your organized chaos. So darling, kiss me under this stupid moon. Because you are so stupidly cute.

I only know how to be two things: grossly uninterested or in 100%.

And I’m in.

I am all in.