September 28, 2016

Your Looks Don’t Attract Me Nearly As Much As Your Mind Does

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I am not impressed by beauty anymore. It is not difficult or extraordinary to turn someone on. However, if you have the ability to inspire me, if you have the ability to stimulate my mind and stir my thoughts — well, that makes you magic.

See, I don’t care for your looks. They don’t attract me nearly as much as your voice does when you’re teaching me something I do not know. When you speak with passion and with conviction, when your eyes light up at the opportunity to enliven me with words, with art, with depth.

I am attracted to you most when your pen is hanging out of your mouth, when you’re trying to free the world inside of your head. When you’re rubbing the sleep from your eyes, moved by the shade of your dreams, by the colour of your midnight thoughts. I am most attracted to you when you’re determined to do something that exhilarates you, even when you are being stubborn and unruly. I am most attracted to your fire, I am drawn to your flame.

No, I don’t care for your looks. I care for your energy, for the conversations we have when we are both electrified by opinion and passion and inspiration. I care for the days I get to watch you do what you love, when I get to see you empty out every ounce of your heart into something that means the world to you. I care for the moments of quiet that dance between us, the seconds between breaths when we are both laying in bed, aware of just how incredible it is to care for someone who makes you want to be a better person.

To put it lightly, I am attracted to you because I am in awe of you. I respect you. You challenge me, you make me think, and that has nothing to do with the specks of amber in your eyes or the crooked way your teeth crowd your smile. With you, I am attracted to the way you make me feel, and because of that I do not just want to give you my skin, my breath, the home that is my body. With you, I want to give you poetry, I want to give you the soul of me, every atom and cell. I want to disregard the mask that is beauty, I want to forget about the surface. Instead, with you, I want to dig until I reach the core of who we are — I want to dive. TC mark

Read more writing like this in Bianca Sparacino’s book Seeds Planted In Concrete here.

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