Baby, I get way too excited when I talk to you.
It’s funny how I love you changes things. Suddenly I’m comfortable being excited. And being scared. And being all the things I didn’t show you before I love you. All the things you didn’t actually love me for. I should’ve have taken the words to mean so much. You fell in love with the mystery.
To fall in love with the real me is different. To fall in love with this beautiful mess– to really love this beautiful mess takes a strong man. It takes more than mystery, it takes someone who is willing to think. And to talk. And to talk about thinking. And to look deep. And face shit. And I don’t give a fuck about timelines and stories. ,you don’t want babies? I’ll find the studies to back that shit up. I’ll find the studies to back you up. But I need a strong man who’s willing to take me even when he sees past the mystery. A man who appreciates the mystery for what it is and nothing more, who loves that I’ve welcomes him in to see the real me underneath. Because mystery is cool and all but the real me is not cool. Nobody is actually that fucking cool. Who did you expect me to be?
So anyway, now I’m so excited to hear from you, as if it’s so great that you thought of me, I love you. I love you. I love you for more than your mystery.