You don’t need makeup to be pretty

ii. I’m a little impulsive. It’s hell for me because I also overthink things, I analyze things from every possible angle and come up with a million completely different outcomes. But sometimes I jump into things without thinking. It never ends well, but the breeze feels good when I’m jumping.

iii. Commitment isn’t something that scares me, I don’t think. Maybe I’m a pessimist, always thinking about how quickly everything good can come to an end. All highs will drop back to lows. Can you blame me, though? Half of all marriages end in divorce, he says. Fifty percent. Half. What am I supposed to do with that statistic? I keep it tucked in my pocket, pull it out and read read read it when I’m falling too fast too soon too much.

iv. i kissed you and your lips tasted like honey. i leaned into you, nose nuzzled against your shirt and your arms wrapped around me. the warmth of your body reminded me of my childhood, walking into a warm bakery in the middle of a brutal winter. cold cheeks and numb hands instantly warming up. the smell of fresh bread and coffee and pastries lingering in the air.

v. but honey isn’t all good, right? it’s sticky and messy and too sweet. my parents say too much bread is the enemy of my hips and thighs. my dad hates coffee, “too addictive, and it smells too strong” he always says, wrinkling his nose at my mug. i think i agree with them all now. too sticky, too unhealthy, too addictive. i should stay away.

vi. I want to let go. I want to stomp my foot and yell, “honey can be sticky, but at least it is sweet. bread may fatten me up, but at least I enjoyed the taste. coffee may be addictive, but at least it makes me feel warm.” What if I’m wrong? All of this is temporary. Fifty percent. Fifty. But what if I’m right? Fifty percent. The good half.

Look. I want to get this right with you. You and your ocean blue eyes and crinkled forehead and gap between your teeth. You and a silky voice and hands that dance around my hips when I cook us dinner. You, you, you. If we’re gonna do this, I have to learn how to stop burning cities down and enjoy the skyscrapers for what they are.

It’s 3 am and you’re taking up the whole bed. You’re a light sleeper, but I don’t want to wake you up. I stay small and imagine what you’re thinking about. What that incredible mind has dreamt up. You are fascinating to me, from your pet peeves to your favorite color (lavender). Maybe you’re dreaming of me. Probably not, but I’d like to think so.

So this is how it goes. A delicate dance between not enough and too much. But believe me when I say that you are a chance I will never regret taking. The world is going to fall to pieces. I want you there with me when it burns down.