Here’s what I mean when I say I’m a romantic at heart
I love it when I order a cocktail and am surprised with a playful garnish like candied hibiscus or a thin slice of charred blood orange.
I’m obsessed with how cute people look when they wear oversized sweaters.
I have all of my close friends’ preferred heart emoji colors memorized.
Earlier this week my husband showed me a video of a cat who lost her kittens and then adopted an orphaned litter, and I cried.
I can’t fathom being one those people who sit on vast amounts of wealth instead of giving it away to help fund food security and housing and healthcare and art projects and environmental conservation, and I don’t think that means I’m a particularly good person. I think it just means I’m not completely devoid of humanity.
One of the reasons I wish I didn’t have ADHD is that I wish I could burn candles more often without worrying that I’ll forget about them and burn the house down.
Some of the most profoundly beautiful moments of my life have happened while fucking, which makes it feel like an especially cruel irony that it’s also happened against my will.
Whenever I write a particularly sad piece of music, I’m thinking at least a little bit about the fact that we’re all only alive for a limited amount of time and that I don’t get to choose when my time with the people I love ends.
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Lately I’ve been imagining myself hiking through a forest and finding a remote lake. A clear, beautiful one without the mosquitoes or muck. I sit next to it and watch the sunset.
The next evening I come back with someone I care about. We bring pool noodles and we float on our backs and look up at the clear night sky. We talk for hours, saying all the things we’ve been too scared to say to each other for one reason or another. We don’t particularly mind if we occasionally bump into each other while we float.
The next evening I bring someone else. Maybe we decide that floating isn’t our vibe, so our hours long candid conversation happens while we wade knee deep into the water and find stones to skip. Maybe at some point it suddenly starts heavily raining and we spread our arms and tilt our faces toward the sky like we're in a movie.
I keep coming back every night, sometimes bringing someone and sometimes alone, until I’ve made it through everyone I’m close to and all my casual friends who I want to know on a deeper level. Then I don’t go as often, but I know the lake is always there when I need it. And the people I care about know that I’m always around if they need a companion to talk to or sit in silence with, our feet in the water, staring at the stars.