man kissing woman on her forehead

I Hope You Find A Love That Meets You At Your Mess

I hope you find a love that meets you at your mess. The kind of love that sees you with unkempt hair, wearing the most unflattering sweatpants and a stained t-shirt and thinks that you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world. They don’t care that you haven’t combed your hair, that you’re not wearing any makeup, or that those sweatpants have been on your body for the past few days. They think you’re beautiful, stains and all.

I hope you find a love that meets you at your mess. I hope it’s the kind of love that sees you crying ugly tears, snot-nosed and red-faced and puffy-eyed, and gives you a tissue. I hope it’s the kind of love that offers you a sleeve when there’s no tissue around. They don’t mind that you get mascara and tears and snot all over their shirt — they’re just happy that they’re able to be there for you, to be able to let you cry into their shoulder, to be able to hold you as you let your sadness splash out your eyes.

I hope you find a love that meets you at your mess. The kind of love that’s there when you’re confused, when you’re sad, when you’re unsure of your footing or what to do. I hope they take the time to talk to you about what’s going on in your heart and head. I hope they speak confidence over you when your psyche tries to whisper doubt into your ear. I hope they hold your flashlight for you as you make your way out of the dark. I hope they find ways to bring you joy, and I hope they share that joy with you.

I hope you find a love that recognizes that the mess of love is beautiful. It’s crying and it’s laughing. It’s dancing and it’s singing. It’s sleeping through your alarm in the morning and staying up late to talk at night. It’s quiet times of solitude, and yet the knowledge that you’re never truly alone. It’s confidence and comfort. It’s compassion and it’s truth. It sees the shadows and the light. It’s able to speak the truth but not sit in judgment. It’s imperfect, and it’s perfect. It’s tiny victories and giant leaps of faith.

I hope you find a love that meets you at your mess — and I hope you meet that love right where they are, too.

About the author
I hate styling my hair. Follow Megan on Instagram or read more articles from Megan on Thought Catalog.

Learn more about Thought Catalog and our writers on our about page.

Related