There’s a kind of love that I’ve heard about. There’s a girl who’s kept a wedding scrapbook since the age of 10, with bits of lace and newspaper articles talking about your perfect day! When she meets the boy she is meant to, her mind will swim with thoughts of wining, dining, and a lot of sweeping-off-of-feet. Her “Prince Charming” because yes, she does have one of those, will either be tall, dark, and handsome, or fair, brave, and wonderful.
This is as cliched as I could get.
But in all honesty, I’ve met girls (for I think of myself as such till now) who want nothing short of a moonlit, candle-lit, lamp-lit, electric romance. They need drama, and passion, and if they don’t find these things, they’ll create them. I’ve met girls with “trust issues,” with “dad issues,”, “mom issues,” and “pet issues…” you name it.
What is this: being passionate means wonderfully violent? What?
The kind of love I believe in means laughing everything off – laughing at each other, learning to laugh at yourself. Being comfortable with making mistakes in front of each other. Everybody needs a best friend. This need to be perfect in his or her eyes…no. They’re going to see you, flawed skin and all, but guess what? You’ll still be perfect.
At the end of the day, the person you need is the person you can nudge playfully while walking down a hallway. There’s something about being able to lean on someone’s shoulder when you’re sleepy, or jumping around when you feel childish, or sitting in silence when you feel worse than a clam at the bottom of the ocean.
It’s the small things everyday: the reliability, the understanding, the knowing. Because what’s worse for the human condition than not knowing…there’s something eerie about darkness.
Passionate violence and all that thunder aside, there’s just something about someone who knows you.
You’re girl, daughter, creative being, idiot, intelligent, capable, soft, wonderful, an entity – so many facets to you, sparkling.