I’m the girl thats easy to love.
I look like a picture, sound like a sleepy Sunday dream, and dance like one of the girls from the movies. I’m the girl from all of your love songs. I’m everyone’s missing piece. We both know I could complete you.
But I don’t know if thats me or just some character I play for you. A custom designed dream come true. True being the emphasis word here.
I can can cook a mean tomato soup, the best lasagna, and I make pizza that will explode your brain. I would never let my, or our, space get messy, and I would never complain about having to keep it clean, because I get off on tidying shit up. I would make you look good, protect your mana in public. I would take no joy from your public humiliation and save our fights for closed doors. I love kids, and they adore me, so do in-laws.
I’m all you’ve ever wanted and so much more, but I don’t know, if I’m what I want.
I’ve spent so much of my life learning to become what everyone has lost hope about finding, that along the way I’ve never taken the time to learn what I want.
I want all of those things above, its true. I have decided this. I have the housewife, partner in crime, girlfriend dreams, it’s true. I would derive so much joy from caring for someone. For making someone proud to curl their arm around me and call me mine.
But I think I’m a lot more than all of that as well.
As well as being the picture of perfection, I think I’m slowly falling in love with all the messy brushstrokes that you only see when you look closer.
I love that I will badly argue my point, with absolutely no facts or research to back my endeavour up. I love that I can bullshit through most conversations, not knowing anything about the subject at hand and making up for it with enthusiasm. But I also love that I know more than most people, about more things than most people have thought to learn about. I love that I can talk about literature and philosophy and history.
I love that I can work a room, seduce a crowd into submission with just a few words and a glance. I love that I can sell any story and I love that I can play the game of life like I wrote the rules.
I love that I have a high enough pain tolerance that I will stupidly push myself past what my body and mind can handle, usually ending in a breakdown, or some kind of physical sickness. I love that I know it’s really stupid. It’s not rational and illogical. But I love that I do it anyway, and come back from it harder.
Grace and elegance are what sits below the surface of my skin.
I love that even though I know I have the capacity to be something worse than an explosion, I love that all I want is a quiet night at home, a cup of tea, and somebody who will let me dance with them late at night.