I want to fall in love with someone who makes me feel young. Young, in the sense of uncontrollable laughter, young in the sense of appreciating the simple things, young in the way we will be silly and childish and celebrate each other, every single day.
“Screaming it on paper was helping me embody it and define its shape. As an artist I know that I can reshape my mind’s creations. And that was step one.”
I envy how they exist—just to be loved and taken care of. Just to be held and played with and smiled at. Just to be the wonderful, fragile, mind-blowing creation that they are.
We are not terrible people, we are a people that is simply using its resources and trying to stay alive in a society that repeatedly attacks us for using what we have to our advantage, while stereotyping us as a whole.
I found myself reminded of that thirteen-year-old feeling of being unable to communicate, of being so aware of your being, but so unaware of your place.
They want to live, experience life, and learn. They want to feel fulfilled, excited and have an opportunity to get to know themselves.
I like loving you like this. Like high school. Like silly, like stolen sips of whiskey, like Saturday afternoons with the whole weekend ahead of us. I like knowing we’re each other’s everythings. That we’re booth too young and foolish to know any better. To know that love hurts like hell.
I know I’m not the first twenty-something to go through this sort of experience. To have someone roll their eyes, shake their head, or chastise you via social media because you’re just that—a twenty-something—and thus you apparently know nothing about life.
iOS upgrades are the spawn of the devil, and you usually ignore them for a month until your phone finally tricks you into clicking “Install” when you’re half-asleep or drunk.
Remember the determined young person you used to be. And believe in yourself again.