I’m tired of the dating game.
I’m tired of the incessant desire that humans have to chase the things that they can’t have, and then run the other way when they finally catch up.
I’m tired of having to pretend that I am not interested and play the role of the “cool girl” in order to latch your attention from across the room.
I’m tired of the waiting rules when it comes to communication, and having to wait 5, 10, 35 minutes to reply to a message: setting my clock a minute too fast so that I don’t accidentally drunk-text you my feelings before schedule.
I’m tired of taking screenshots of our conversations and e-mailing them to my friends so that they can scrutinize your words and deem you worthy or tell me that you are just a fuckboy.
I’m tired of feeling torn between feeling guilty for sleeping with you on the first date or fearing that lack of a phone call the next day if I don’t, or fearing that lack of a phone call the next day if I do.
I want to write you a novel of my feelings for you without worrying about whether or not your “read-receipt” is on, and I want to spit out a mouthful of flowers and poetry on your doorstep when it tells me that you did, in fact, read my message.
I don’t want to wait to tell you about the scars on my inner thighs or about the detrimental nightmares I had as a child because when we met you were a blank page I wanted to stain the blood from my hands with.
I don’t want to wait to give you my body and my heart and my mind simultaneously, because I am not the misunderstood girl who is afraid to let you in.
Or the cool girl who is too cool to stay or the crazy girl who wants too much too fast — but maybe because I can be all three.
I want to stand in front of you bare-skinned and exposed of all my fears and insecurities and demons and aspirations and desires, and I want you to do the same.
I don’t want to follow the rules and miss the day when I could’ve called you mine because our misguided, passive gestures were miscommunicated.
I want to tell you right now.