i think being a hopeless romantic means being born with homesickness for a kind of love you’ve never even had.

i don’t want to be wanted quickly. i want to be known slowly. I want someone to grow fond of me in all the quiet, accidental ways. to learn the way my brain dances from one thought to another, the little things that make my eyes light up, the things i pretend don’t hurt, the stories hidden behind all my strange little habits. i want someone who doesn’t just listen to me, but studies me softly, like a book they have no intention of finishing too quickly.

someone who notices my body and who loves its softness and its curves and thinks about what it might feel like beneath their hands but has enough patience to let wanting me become its own kind of romance. lingering glances. sitting a little too close. a hand almost touching mine. weeks of tension living quietly between us before anything ever happens.

i want someone who sees all the doors i keep locked and never tries to break them down. someone who simply sits beside them long enough that one day, without even realizing it, i start handing them the keys.