I don’t need flowers every day. I don’t need the candles. I don’t need the sparkly presents wrapped in ribbon. That’s not the kind of romance I’m talking about. I’m talking about giving me the time of day. I’m talking about eye contact. I’m talking about telling jokes that make me throw my head back laughing.
That’s the thing about learning to love yourself. There is no timeline.
“…Let me love you And I will love you Until you learn to love yourself” – Ne-Yo You don’t want the flowers, the kisses, the hugs, the sex and the close proximity as much as you want to be seen.…
I told myself I’d write about the time we parked your station wagon at the top of the Hollywood Hills by the bird streets and sat and talked during Thanksgiving break. I don’t even remember if we kissed.
His lips collided with hers, silencing the name of the man who threatened to come between them. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other held onto the side of her face. He kissed her like he hated her, hard and fierce. Like at any moment she might disappear before his eyes.
Marriage doesn’t mean you stop fighting, it means you found a reason worth fighting for.
If someone says they like you, it’s hard to see it as a big deal because words and feelings are thrown about so frequently that their value becomes lost and meaningless.
I picked him up for a party in my old beat up Buick; he smiled mischievously when he climbed in. “Just us tonight?” he asked. I still remember that rough feeling in my stomach as I nodded, as if something bigger than butterflies were ricocheting back and forth deep inside me. It made me feel like maybe I could fly, too.
Our generation has become lazy and in the process forgotten what it is like to date.
And yet, you’ll fuck it up by doing what we all do — asking those pesky, persistent two words: “what if.” What if there’s someone better out there?