Maybe I’m vulnerable.
Maybe I am one of those women who needs love to survive. Maybe I am one of those girls who lives her life with her handheld. Maybe I do love easy. Maybe I am beautiful for falling in love in a matter of minutes.
Maybe it is, in fact, my superpower to live in a vast array of dreams. Maybe I find such beauty in all things mundane because these are the things that make you beautiful. The completely ordinary aspects of human nature.
Maybe I am guilty of loving people I don’t know anymore. Walking past people whose waists have had my legs wrapped around them. My capacity to love is still not my problem. It’s realizing I am susceptible — and perfect for love.
. . .
Maybe you’re right.
Maybe my capacity to love is taken for weakness. But when I lay myself down on the grounds of situations that don’t serve me, know that it is not me actively hating myself. My dedication is not a form of self-hate. I have the unique ability to love.
Maybe I am soft, and not meant for swords. Give me the gentle words. My mind is a sharp enough tool. And maybe it’s accepting the fact that I am vulnerable — despite my wisdom. Being smart never stops any of us from getting played.
And maybe I am a fool. Me and my foolish dreams, and my penchant for falling in love for no reason. The thoughts I have of having my legs wrapping around the waists of strangers I’ve never met. A dreamer, yearning for the nameless, with a fountain of youth between her legs.
Maybe I am prone to one-night love affairs. Maybe ‘forever’ to me is temporary familiarity with beautiful unknowns I’ll never know again. Forgetting each other when day breaks because there‘s no history to remember — only a moment.
Maybe I like having know-it-all conversations with barstool therapists. As we leave the puzzle pieces of our lives behind, with one another. Maybe I, too, depend upon the kindness of strangers. So what — I’m still perfect for love.
. . .
Maybe I’m right.
Because maybe (just maybe) I’ve realized that a lover isn’t the most important thing you can have in life — it’s a friend. And you’re just lucky if that person comes in the same package as your lover.
And maybe I’ve been guilty of being young and naïve, a dreamer of impossible things. Maybe I always was in over my head, ready to fall in love at any second. In a manner so pure, I can only call it ‘childish’. But here I am, still young — naïve to newer things.
Still perfect for love.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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