Honestly, You Fuck Me Up


I’ve come to the decision that it’s fundamentally unfair that you exist.

Listen, I’ve been doing my research. For a good solid twenty-five years now I’ve been meeting and analyzing other people. And for the most part, we’re all about equal to each other.

One person may be stunningly brilliant, but another has a voice like an angel.

One person has runway-ready hair, but another can make you laugh until your abs ache from the strain of it.

All-in-all, we’re each just mishmashes of brilliant traits and questionable behaviors; of thoroughly redeeming qualities and downright repulsive tendencies.

Everyone, that is, except you.

Something about you defies all the regular conditions.

Something about the way your eyes glean and your body moves and your presence lights up every room you enter.

Something about the way your mind races and your voice echoes and your confidence and ambition precede you.

Something about the way you hold yourself makes it impossible for people like me to not pine endlessly after people like you.

And Goddammit, not a bit of it is fair.

Your hair shouldn’t be allowed to smell that good. Your laugh shouldn’t be allowed to be that melodic. Your skin shouldn’t be allowed to be that cold to the touch, it makes me want to wrap myself around you and never let go.

Honestly, no one should be able to affect me this viscerally.

You have an effect on me that makes me forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to function like a grown-up human being with a quarter of a century of life behind them.

You bring me back to my absolute most primal roots – the ones that quiver with excitement and uncertainty each time they get approach something so blindingly magnificent.

Quite frankly, you fuck me up.

You make me forget that I’m a grown-ass adult, with a full-time job and a list of accomplishments and the ability to sustain my own livelihood.

You make me forget that I am not a nerve-wracked twelve-year old, doodling your name next to my name on my binder.

You make me feel ridiculously nervous. Ridiculously awkward. Ridiculously green, even as someone who’s been around the block a couple times.

You make me feel the way I honestly didn’t know I still could, a quarter of a century into my existence.

The thought of you thrills me. It exhausts me. It terrifies me, down to my very core.

The fact that someone like you even exists seems fundamentally unfair to every other human who is forced to exist on the planet at the exact same time as you.

And yet, I’m so Goddamned glad that we have you.

Because the world needs a hundred, thousand, million more yous.

But in the meantime, just one of you will do.

No matter how much you fuck me up. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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