A Lover Of Sissies

“I want the kind of love story that you see in movies. You know, the ones where the two meet and they almost end up together, but then there’s a problem and they almost don’t work out- until they realize what’s most important to them: the other. I just want the kind of love that makes you smile so big thinking about the moments of the relationship. The love that, even in the worst of times, you can always depend on to make you feel loved and important. That’s the kind of love story I’m waiting for.”

“It is in the moment when he first notices the fireworks leaping from her eyes that he realizes she is the one he’s been waiting so patiently for, searching so desperately for. It is in the moment when I watch him notice the fireworks leaping from her eyes that I realize she is the one he’s been waiting so patiently for, searching so desperately for. It is in this moment that I realize he has never seen fireworks leaping from my eyes but I have always seen them in his.”

“For all the people that I meet that make me want to run away, you’re the only one I’ve met who’s ever made me want to stay.”

And please know

“How is it, that we never touched as more than friends, yet we can’t seem to get each other out of our heads?”

Nashville Follow Train

Together. I was the river; you were the sea. I was the heart; you were the love.

The Sissy Map

Does it hurt, knowing that he doesn’t feel the same?” “Like hell. Do you wanna know what unrequited love feels like?” she asks, then goes on without waiting for an answer. “It’s looking into his beautiful icy blue eyes right as the sun hits them and watching them melt into oceans that you know you’ll never be able to see up close. It’s brushing your arm against his on accident and feeling chills run down your body as he feels nothing. It’s feeling something you can’t explain every time you see him, as he’s not even giving you a second glance.” “But the worst part?” she chokes out, tears filling her throat. “It’s knowing that no matter how much you wanted him, he chose her, he chose her, he chose her.

Heartbreak is not poetic. Heartbreak isn’t always a pretty girl crying her eyes out on her bathroom floor at 3am. It doesn’t feel like a knife in the chest, a bullet to the heart, or the inability to breathe. Heartbreak is not anything like the movies. You can’t get over true heartbreak with ice cream and a good cry. You can’t be heartbroken for a day and be completely fine the next. Heartbreak will break you, but you can fix yourself. It takes time, and pain, and so much effort, and you still may never be completely over it. Heartbreak is not beautiful.

We were always an almost– more than nothing, but never– never something.

I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle. This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you. And I will not be afraid of your scars. I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.