I don’t want you to just fall in love with this physical body, with my eyes, my legs, my mouth. I don’t want you to just fall in love with these emotions, my feelings, my passion, my heart. I don’t want you to just love who I am right now, my human presence, my smile, my face. I don’t just want you to love me in the present, without knowing how I’ve become that woman.
I don’t want you to just kiss me because you can’t imagine doing anything else, or because that’s how you’ve learned to express your affection. I don’t just want you to talk to me because that’s how you’ve learned to let someone in, speaking to fill the silence.
I want you to fall in love with me, yes. But most importantly, fall in love with my mind.
I want you to explore the way I think, ask questions, dig deeper, push aside my fears and pull away the guard I’ve wrapped so tightly around me. I want you to know what’s spinning in my head, what I believe in, what I fear.
I want you to ask me things you’ve been scared to ask anyone else—about life and death and the unknown that exists in-between. I want to talk religion and politics, fears and failures, the happiest moments and the lowest, and how we’ve learned to survive.
I want to learn you, and with you.
I want to go to museums with you, stand before the paintings and trace the lines with our eyes, every brushstroke, every curve, every blob of color, making sense of what we see and feel in our heads, and then sharing our thoughts with one another.
I want to curl up on your lap with a good book, read to you, close my eyes as you read to me, discuss the plot and characters, what we think of the language or how the tale evolves.
I want to learn about your profession, understand the ins and outs of math and science, numbers and calculations that have never been my strong suit. I want you to read my writing, to learn how I think and express and understand everything around me.
I want to open both my mind and heart with you, to you.
I want to explore forests and trails, climb to the top of mountains and breathe in the earth, feel the dirt beneath our feet and the hot sand between our toes. I want to walk through nature, taking in every tree, every root, every branch underfoot.
I want to marvel at the colors, at the way the earth and sky seem endless when you stare through leaves up at the sun. I want to lose track of time talking about how we got here, what happens when we leave.
I want you to ask me why I love poetry, what I think about when I’m almost asleep, what’s hidden in the journal I keep from your eyes. I want you to listen as I pour my heart to you, tell you stories from my past and lessons I’ve learned. I want to listen as you do the same, getting closer both mentally and spiritually.
I want you to know me, the way my mind works. And I want you to love that part of me the most.
See, physical love will not last. Beauty will fade, attraction will dwindle, and passion for the body will be replaced by passion for the mind. And that’s the love I want to have.
I want something that goes beyond what we can see; I want to learn together, to grow together, to explore the world and one another, falling deeper and deeper because we are connected in more ways than one.
I don’t just want the cutesy, the lovey-dovey, the butterflies that come with a romantic relationship; I want the ways we will learn one another, the ways we will not stay static and unchanging, but forever moving, shifting, growing, becoming whole in one another’s arms.
I want you to fall in love with my mind—it’s the realest part of me—every way I think, every decision I make, every value I believe and emotion I express.
Because when you decide to love me, you’re not merely loving this body. You’re not just holding this beating heart in your hands. You’re taking all of me. You’re choosing to learn me, to discover me. You’re choosing us, and building us, day after day.
And I want that.
I want the deepest connection to you.
I want my heart all in, and my mind undoubtedly yours.
So please don’t just fall in love with me, fall in love with my mind.