I know what I want. I want honesty. Real, brutal, straightforward truth. Regardless of the consequences. If you like me, tell me. If you want me, tell me. If you don’t see us going anywhere, fucking tell me. It saves us all time and energy.
I know what I want. I want you. I know it when I see it, and I saw it in you. I’m not going to apologize for that. I’m also not going to curl up in a ball and cry if you don’t see the same thing in me. I will, however, be mad as all hell if you choose to not tell me that you don’t see the same potential, and instead ignore my fading texts, and choose to only call me up when you’re horny.
I know what I want. I want a relationship. I’m ready to admit that now. That is what I’m looking for. Does it mean that I’m looking for it from every guy I start a conversation with or flirt with at the bar? HELL NO. I want a relationship, but I want one that’s worth it. One that’s built on a foundation of friendship and mutual attraction, and honesty. I mean, shit. Is it really that hard to be truthful?
I know what I want. But I also know that most people don’t, and that they’ll play games until they figure it out. So that honesty I so desperately crave? I keep it to myself. People don’t want me to be honest with them. That feeling I want you to know that I feel? I won’t tell you. I already know you’ll run scared of it, because you’ll equate it with wanting to get married and have kids tomorrow. The relationship that I’m finally ready to admit to myself that I want? I won’t admit it to you. Because that will blow up in my face, just as it has every time before.
So for now, I’ll keep my walls up, thank you very much. And see who cares enough to try and learn what it is I already know.