I've loved and I've lost. I think everyone can say that! It's so true though. Just a year ago I thought I wanted to be with someone forever. I knew it was because I was scared to let go with the fear of being alone, but when I did let go I felt like the whole world was off my shoulders. I felt the sudden need to feel happier, to look happier, smile more, even go out. That relationship changed me. It changed me for the better. I spent time finding myself just like everyone does after a brutal breakup. I guess it wasn't that brutal, but it felt like it. The endless name-calling, the blaming, the going to meet up for dinner to talk it out, but he brings his cousin and makes it awkward. It was horrible! I wanted to cry so hard, but I was done crying. I felt miserable but was also happy at the same time.
In my past dating life, there was one mistake I made over and over again: I focused more on finding a specific type of person than on finding someone who could simply make me happy.
She's my best friend, I knew I loved her the moment we met, I saw my future in her eyes, and her smile completed me, but she's not the one, because she doesn't feel the same way about me.
I dip the palm of my hand gently into the tray of cool, sticky paint, my hand picking up a few different colors as it presses down on the tray. The pain is such a relieving feeling against my hand that was hot and sweaty from feeling so nervous. I can feel my arms tremble a little and my breath becomes faster, shallow and shaky. I lift my hand and look at the imprint it made in the paint; small and imperfect and most definitely mine. A small breeze makes its way to me through the small screen door in front of me on the patio. It makes the only other noise aside from my frantically beating heart. My mind is racing but I can't think of anything to say. I know I should just turn around and do it but I have no excuse to, none aside from my intense desire to. Maybe if I turn around I'll find some inspiration to...to do what? I feel like the paint is sliding off of my hand, beginning to dry and become useless. It's been so long just standing here, panicking. Do I turn around or would it be a waste of time? I should just run out of that screen door, out into the field of tall grass and just disappear. As I'm standing, preparing to run and yet wanting to stay, whether or not I escape to the vast and unsure world beyond the screen door is decided for me. It's uncomfortably warm and humid but yet the warmth of your hand on my bare shoulder is comforting; gently guiding my body towards you without turning around. My breaths deepen and my heart quickens with every inch that my feet move me farther away from the door. Then, suddenly, your hand disappears and my heart sinks. My face flushes and I want so badly to sprint out of the patio door and not look back but instead I turn, finally, to see where you have gone. As I wheel around, my sticky, colorful hand reaches out and, in my haste, finds itself pressed on your bare chest. The blue and silver of your eyes dulls the brilliance of the blue paint smeared just over your heart in the shape of my slender hand. Air catches in my chest, my body seems frozen in ice and yet my cheeks flush with heat. The gentle touch of your hand on my cheek melts my frozen muscles and the paint on your fingertips cools my flushed cheeks. I feel the cool streaks of blue and silver left on my cheek and reach up to touch your face where you had touched mine. Feeling your skin on min again sends a rush of red to to my head. Both of us are slow but eager to reach and grab for more. I take a breath to speak but your lips reach mine before words can and suddenly the world becomes more vast than the field outside or the sky above it, yet it only consists of your lips, your breath, your hands and our heat. That was the day I learned to love, by seeing me in you.
I unload the last box into my new home. I can’t believe I own my own home. It is a cute one bedroom house in the upper north end of Chicago. I spent all of my high school career saving money and thus was able to buy it outright. I landed a job as a junior editor for a newspaper in Chicago. My excellent test scores, awards, and publishing my works online throughout high school paid off. I am the youngest employee in my office by far, at just eighteen-years-old. As I carry the last box inside, I notice a truck with a trailer full of boxes has pulled up in the driveway of the house beside mine. I decide to set my last box inside and ask if they need any help.
Use your mouth to pry my own open and kiss me senseless—not to whisper sweetness into my ear. Use your fingers to venture into regions that daylight never sees—not to hover over my heart to feel my pulse. And keep your eyes closed unless they're alive with only passion. Don't use them to stare deep into mine, trying to make sense of the madness you'll find there.
In this day and age, we rely on technology to find the so called “perfect match.” In the United States alone, millions of single people use search engines and match making websites to the job for them. But, is that the right thing to do?
He wanted me. I could feel it when I was around him. The only problem was that I was over twenty years his senior. He was in his mid-thirties and I was somewhere in my fifties, and I'm not saying just where. Suffice it to say, he was hot and I was hot for him.
Fast heartbeat. Sweaty palms. Shaky voice. Stuttering words. Shy look...
Some people say that romance dies over the years of being in a relationship, but it depends on what you think romance is...