We need to hear more love stories about the things new parents laugh about at 4am, screaming baby, no sleep.
We need love stories about brothers. And men in general, asking each other about their feelings.
We need love stories about all the things left on friends' porches this year. People who wave at each other on the street.
We need more love stories about women choosing themselves, loving themselves, prioritizing rest and peace and opting out without explanation.
We need to hear more love stories about anyone who've been together for thirteen years, still bringing each other a glass of water unprompted. And the things they continue to argue about; either silly and small or the argument that turns the room into lava, but they keep returning to it, and to each other, as if to ask will you still meet me.
We need love stories about people who met at the wrong time. And the right time.
We need to hear more love stories about love that felt more like a quiet afternoon rather than fireworks exploding in the sky.
We need more love stories that start with first I messed everything up and then.
We need more love stories about all the people we loved and never told/loved and couldn't be with/ loved and let go / loved and still had to leave.
We need more love stories about looking ourselves in the mirror, will all our self - neglect and self-abandonment and self-loathing and realize that if we find something gentle to say to ourselves at this moment, then this is a love story too.
Who Wants To Love Me? (A Disclaimer)
For instance, this morning, I stood for a while at the window and marveled that in each house there is a whole universe unto itself.
For instance, it once took eighteen blocks and five stores to find the right card for a friend's birthday. I was a whole hour late and forgot to pick up the extra limes I said I would get on the way.
For instance, at dinner, I was relieved to move to the other side of the table and find you to be discussing whether all of our dreams and ambitions were futile and if we should pursue them anyway.
For instance, sometimes it feels as though I have retreated into the furthest corner of myself, and I am unreachable, even
As I sit across from you, ask you questions, reach for your hand.
For instance, I get restless. I will either pace and pick a fight about how we are just like the people we say we'll never be, or simply rearrange all the furniture in the house.
For instance, I want to know everything that made you; what gave you the scar on your lip and the moments that softened you and the moments where you felt alone, and who called at the time to prove otherwise: you
All I'm saying is, it shouldn't come as a surprise that when we got to the water, and you surveyed the sand for a place to lay the blanket. I was already in to: my shoulders before it hit that I didn't check my pockets. I wanted to be enveloped by the magnitude of the ocean, I couldn't help myself.
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