I am a person who will always give too much, tell too much, and feel too much.
I want to laugh over the kind of intimacies we’re not meant to share until we’re infinitely more comfortable or sure and I want that to be our own measure of comfort – our own measure of what it’s okay to be around each other. I want to take you home too soon. I want to be too enthralled by your mind, by your body, by the heartbeat thrumming underneath your chest to obey the rules that we’re meant to follow. I want to text you back too quickly. I want to laugh out loud at the words that cross my screen and feel no shame letting you know that I’ve heard you. I appreciate your mind and your thoughts and your words and I take no hesitations in adding my own. I want to be challenged by you. I want to jump aboard your racing train of thought and intersect it with my own. I don’t want a gentle, docile ride. I want crashes. I want fires. I want new ideas brimming and bursting and exploding into each other. I want to see all your potential for wonder and for evil and I want to choose both. I don’t want to pretend when I’m around you. If you’re the biggest mistake of my life, I want to walk into it with arms outstretched and eyes wide open.
but for the meantime I want to make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.