When I was eleven or so and I had one friend I remember telling her about my dream boyfriend. He had brown hair and green eyes. His favourite band was Metallica. I guess I still thought maybe there was a smidge of a hope for me to turn out normal, desiring the house and the lab and the 2,5 children and the valium, not just desiring to have the desire. Instead, here I am. I'm not perfect, in fact I'm quite fucked up. I'm in no position to be making any promises. What you see is what you get, if even. But I can tell you one thing, amidst the quirks and the phobias that fit into that one term "fucked up", including fear of intimacy, commitment and even conversations at times, an unhealthy view of sex and a cynical outlook on life, and the emotional capacity of the twelve-year-old I was when things went wrong, I have felt something akin to normal, healthy, sweet infatuation that could quite possibly lead to the real thing, once, for one person, and I don't mean to scare you but that's you, baby. That's what I have to offer. Take it or leave it. A piece of advice would be, leave it. Run for the hills. Because this girl's got a ton of baggage.
That's it.
2 comments:
being perfect is the better way. I don't know if this sounds like much, because you know what kind of person I am. But I'm happy there's someone like you. plus I heard of that dream boyfriend a lot when I was younger lol.
I meant to say "not perfect" too.
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