Tag Archives: prose

bricks

I was never one to go on a search for love. I actually consider myself a pretty damn good architect- I am pro at building walls around my heart so feelings can’t get in. From the outside, these walls are concrete bricks, stacked perfectly. Many have tried to climb over, but the look remained clean and untouched. On the inside, however, they are stained with graffiti from a love that once tore me apart. Rather than breaking down the walls, he ruined them. He swore it was artwork; he promised he would make it beautiful. But instead, he vandalized it. The graffiti was never meant to be art. It was made to mark his territory. I tried to paint over the graffiti, but the paint could only cover so much. I never wanted anyone to see it. And the only way to do that was to keep people out at all costs.

Then somehow you found an entrance and you sort of stumbled in. I was never prepared for it. But honestly, I don’t think there was ever a way for me to prepare for it. You walked in so gracefully, and you looked at the mess he made. But you never tried to paint over it. You never tried to conceal any of the damage that was done. And you never tried to violently demolish the walls. You never tried to make it seem like the graffiti never existed. Instead, you started taking it down, brick by brick– unfolding me in the most gentle way. You acknowledged that the vandalism was there, and instead of wiping it out immediately, you took the time to understand why I am so damaged. You’re still working on it. You’re still taking each brick down individually. You’re taking your time, and so am I. And for the first time, I am not afraid. For the first time, I’m totally okay letting someone in.

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game changer

I don’t know what you did but you did it. I don’t get feelings. I have this talent where I could go out with a guy and have an awesome time but not want anything to do with him the very next day. I convince myself that every guy is mediocre at best, so once they’re gone, I’m not missing out on a damn thing. But then there you were. It’s funny because the day you and I were going on our first date, I kept forgetting. I’d be driving and talking on the phone to Jourdan and I’d stop mid-sentence and be like, “Fuck! I forgot I have to get ready for this date when I get home.” If I’m being honest, I didn’t even try. I remember getting ready and calling Jourdan back, asking him, “should I push the time some more?” And I ended up pushing it from 5, to 6, to 6:30, to 7. So I dressed in work clothes. I wore skate shoes. I got to the restaurant already prepared to leave. I was over it before I even got out of the car. I’ve become so accustomed to saying no to second dates that I was 99% sure you were just another name to add to the books. But you were that 1%. 

Maybe it was the way you made me laugh with your lack of chopstick skills. Or the way you held me every time I’d mention I was cold. Maybe it’s the way our conversation flowed so naturally. Or the way we judged people together as a team. Maybe it’s the way you got so nervous before our first kiss. Or the way we snuck out of your car to avoid the people in the car next to us laughing. It was so simple, but it was the best first date of my life. And for some reason, I wanted to see you again. And again. And again.

If you were any other guy, I’d freak out after you tried to hold my hand. But I intertwined my fingers with yours like they were supposed to be there. If you were any other guy, I’d turn my head once I saw you leaning in for a kiss. But I met you halfway and came back for seconds. If you were any other guy, I would have deleted all your text messages and blocked your number the second I’d gotten home. But I texted you telling you how great of a time I had, and how I hoped we’d get to do it again very soon. You changed the game.

People often ask me if you make me happy. And oddly enough, the answer is no. You don’t make me happy. I was obviously happy before you came into my life, so you are not the reason for my happiness. However, I will say that you add to my happiness. I am a firm believer that before you add another person into your life, you must be happy on your own first. And the person you add later on should only magnify that happiness, not create it. They should widen the smile you already have. They should brighten the glow that is already in your eyes. They should make the music you already hear sound louder and more clear. Ultimately, your picture should be complete — their job is to make it all hi-def.

And that’s what you did for me. I find it very hard to admit, but I like you. A lot. I’m an extremely unattached person, but for some reason I want to stick to you. And while I am scared of diving headfirst into whatever we have going on, I want you to know that you make my smile even bigger. You make my eyes twinkle more. You make the music way more crisp and beautiful. I was happy. I am happy. But you took a magnifying glass to all of it. 

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