Love me for me. Every bit of brokenness. Every ounce of pain and every quiet unsure response. Take it and mold it in your hand with so much gentleness that every curve becomes secure in complete happiness.
“Trust me man, you’re going to be just fine,” the driver stated.
If it evokes strong emotions, we call it poetry. If it produces a supreme sense of beauty, we call it poetry. You can attempt to shrug off the label, but those are all poetry in some way.
Half of the time, I’m told that I should be happy without a boyfriend, and I know it’s the truth, but it’s hard to believe when the other half of the time I’m bombarded with commercials about happy couples, Instagram photos of #RelationshipGoals, and articles with tips for finding a boyfriend.
An emotional man is a man who is secure in himself. He loves loving others, and he loves others the only way he knows how: wholeheartedly and openly.
“I thought I wanted freedom, and I do 6 days a week. But Sunday nights, man. I miss her.”
We think we have to be women and men who are tough on the outside and soft on the inside, who act one way but think another. We believe this makes us attractive, to be complicated. Makes us worth the chase, worth the discovery of what’s beneath the layers. But maybe we really don’t need the layers at all.
It’s a nostalgia, really – remembering things from the past and wanting to experience them all over again. And an irony – knowing that you can’t.
Heartworm: a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.
I don’t know, exactly,
what it is I want to hear.
But I know I like
the sound of your voice,
the way you grab my chin, and pull
my face to yours, stare
into my eyes.