Before, I was looking for a little black dress kind of love. Make me feel sexy, beautiful, desired. Give me all the wrong kinds of attention and convince me that I need it. Don’t promise me tomorrow but at least let me hope for it.
Before, I was looking for a Friday night kind of love. Let me tuck my weeks’ worth of exhaustion underneath your pillow and cater to your opinions over a bottle of wine. Convince me that my façade is good enough for you for as long as I can keep it up. Tell me you’re scared of losing me but keep me on my toes. Despite what you tell me, I know it’s not really your mom that you’re texting nonstop.
Before, I was getting the hangover kind of heartbreak. Painful, embarrassing, gut wrenching, head pounding. The kind that comes after poor decisions, which is what you were. A poor decision that I made over and over again. But just like the hangover, my heartbreaks were short lived, and it was a matter of time before I was swimming in your poison again. I would look in the mirror and see a hollowed version of myself with the hopes that you could fill my void even if only for a few moments.
But I guess one day, I just got tired of all the bile.
These days, I’m holding out for a favorite pair of jeans kind of love. The kind I can dress up or down, wear when I roam the city on a chilly morning or to a dinner party with friends. Make me feel comfortable, natural, reliable. Don’t give me any kind of attention because I don’t need it when I have a presence. Don’t promise me anything because your actions exempt you from providing something so empty.
These days, I’m looking for a Sunday morning kind of love. Yes that’s right, prove all the clichés right for me. Let me tell you about the first time I saw my favorite movie, what I think might happen to us when our lives come to an end. Let me tuck my insecurities alongside yours in your top drawer. Convince me that my baggage isn’t as heavy as I thought. Tell me about how much you love your brother over a cup of coffee. Tell your mom I said hi when she calls.
These days, I’m ready for the daily, gentle kinds of heartbreak. Subtle, aggravating, frustrating, annoying. The kind that comes from life doing its thing. We both have a good sense of humor though and we know that these obstacles will be short lived. We can be each other’s comedy shows, motivational speakers, favorite songs that we pick over and over again. For once, you won’t just ask me what my favorite book is. You’ll ask me why it’s my favorite, which is all I’ve ever wanted to tell anyone. These days, I’ll look in the mirror and be full of myself in the most genuine of ways and be so grateful that I have someone to share myself with.
Before I was looking for a kind of love that isn’t a kind of love at all. But these days I have hope that I can figure out what it is. These days, I think I can have it and I can give it.