I have often been the kind of girl who burns the candles at both ends and can’t find the happy medium between the safe-but-boring choices who love me unconditionally and the horrible-yet-alluring choices who leave me feeling like a desperate child.
We want to be loved, in a way that isn’t directly tied to how pure we are sexually or how much we’re willing to “give away.”
Kiss him. Pull him towards you when the two of you are sitting in his car.
And I am not interested in torturing myself with questions of “What if he meets someone else?” I’m sure you will. And maybe you’ll manage to fool her for even longer than you did me.
Throw yourself into the degree, the promotion, the internship, or the backpacking tour of Asia that you have always dreamed of doing but knew that you couldn’t do if anyone else was depending on you.
It’s like being a child again, except instead of going to the carnival and loading up on cotton candy and sno cones, you stay in your apartment and order non-stop takeout Chinese.
I would lay down in the crook of your arm and feel like I was finally somewhere that wanted to have me. I never felt more beautiful, more desired, more comfortable in my environment.
The ceremony was lovely. It was one of those events you can describe as having nothing wrong with it, but it’s more of a compliment than it sounds like. Everything went well.
My apartment had never seemed more cold. It had never felt less like the place I actually lived, or more like a vague insult to my current state of aloneness.
I want to be in love. I want to get it over with so that I can move along to all of the other parts of life that seem so easy to achieve when someone at home cares about you.