You promised you wouldn’t ever make me feel this way, you promised.
Al Pacino and Christopher Walken
Wearing beanies when your hair looks like shiit 👍 (Taken with instagram)
Words cannot express how much I love having a job 💰💰💰 (Taken with instagram)
n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.
Cuddling, spooning, snuggling, whatever you call it, is one of the most intimate activities two people can take part of. In a culture where friends-with-benefits and one-night-stands are socially accepted, cuddling has developed in our society to be considered even more sacred than intercourse. Like sex, cuddling creates a moment of tangible unison and endearing physical satisfaction; however, it also places you in a state of such vulnerability and comfort that you begin to lose yourself within an insidious allusion in which the two of you share mutual love, trust, and acceptance. It may be 2AM, it may be cold, and it may be euphoric, but it is only a momentary facade of circumstantial happiness. Eventually, reality will conspicuously manifest itself in the form of your cell phone’s 6AM alarm, conveniently waking you up with just enough time to gather up your belongings, clothes, and dignity before you successfully sneak out whilst hoping that they maintain their peaceful, nonobligatory slumber.
I will not let you hold me afterwards. I refuse to fall captive to a fantasy and pretend that this is something that it is not. Because in the morning, we’ll become strangers again. There will be no phone calls, no dates, no hand-holding, only a nonchalant head nod and awkward smile at the next party we see each other at.
I will not let you hold me because I fear the very possible satisfaction that comes from it; the way our bodies curve and melt so perfectly together as we feel the warmth from every inch of each other’s bare skin. I am certain that this will not turn me on, rather, it will only make me feel worse.
I will not let you hold me because of the detrimental possibility that I will realize everything that I am missing. Do not stroke my hair or trace your fingers along my figure, I am probably not thinking about you anyway. In fact, I’ll be wishing that I could be immersed in this moment with an ex rather than you; someone that I had once allowed myself to love, but was too stubborn and prideful to keep, and I will miss them. I will miss the moments where everything in my life fell into place, where everything was justifiable and wouldn’t fill me with such remorse, where the outcome our rendezvous be breakfast-in-bed and morning cartoons. I will forget the importance of independence and self-satisfaction, I will miss the effervescent feelings of passion, devotion, and adulation. I will be engulfed in loneliness and despair.
I will not let you hold me because not for a second will I allow myself to feel the verity of my own emptiness, I will not allow myself to forget that independence is the path that I had chosen. That I do not need another human being to validate my own existence. That the only person I need to feel alive is myself.
But most importantly, I will not let you hold me because I cannot bear the reality that the hopeless-romantic heart that I had once embellished on my sleeve his torn into something so callous, cold, and cryptic.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.