Sunday, February 12, 2012

Just Writing.

I was just writing the other night. Stream of conscious penmanship if you will. And I came up with this, I ended up posting it to Letters to Crushes, which is an epic site and you should hit it up. But that's anonymous and I wanted to take credit for it here. So, in light of Valentines Day coming up, and my less than stellar track record with boys, I don't know this was the product of random scribblings early yesterday morning when I couldn't sleep.

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It’s silly, wanting things.

I want someone to go to bed thinking of me. To wake and send me a good morning text just because he knows it will brighten my day. I want sweet dreams texts too, and conversations that end with “You hang up…no you hang up” because we are so enthralled with the rhythmic measure of each other’s voice it’s hard to say goodbye, even if it is just temporary.

I want roses on Valentines, and other mismatched flowers at random intervals of the year just because. I want a boy who isn’t afraid to tell his friends about me, who will sneak up on me in the dining hall and wrap me in his arms from behind, just so everyone around us knows that I am his and he is mine. I want someone who thinks occasionally (even when he won’t admit it to himself, because we’re young and in college, and such thoughts are farfetched and inconceivable) that maybe I’m the girl for him. That I could be his everything.

I want someone who wants to know me better than I know myself. Who makes it his goal to memorize every line in my face, every freckle on my skin, just so I’ll be etched into his memory forever.  Who won’t care if one day I show up dressed to the nines, whilst the next I’m in sweatpants and a baggy shirt. I want someone to whom my physical appearance is only a bonus, an added plus to the beautiful radiant girl he sees behind the temporary fog of mortality that is a human body.

I want someone who likes cuddling just for the physical contact, who likes my weight against his chest, who likes to feel my heart against his. Because knowing that I am there gives him comfort. Who can tell just my hearing my voice, seeing me walk, when I need him most. I want him to give me forehead kisses, play with my hair, give me his jacket when I’m cold, and fiddle with the chipping polish on my nails because he thinks it’s cute. I want him to need to touch me, to reach out and stroke the back of my hand because he just needs the contact between us, to know that I am indeed real.

I want someone who puts thought into every gift, every action. Who gives me a moonstone necklace on the night of a full moon, because he knows about precious stone lore, and how it dictates that when someone is given moonstone the first night of a full moon they will have passion for the gift giver forever. And he wants us to share in that passion. I want him to write about me, even if he isn’t a writer and the words are a strung together mess of thought and verbose clumsiness. I want him to care enough that he has to inscribe onto paper how he feels. Someone who will backpack with me across Europe the summer before college ends. Who will explore the entire world with me because there is nothing he would rather do. 

I want someone who searches for adventure, not the adrenaline pumping life-threatening kind (though sprinkles of that would be okay too), but just the adventure and thrill that he can find in everyday life from doing silly everyday things. 

I want someone who will take my hand and walk with me along the beach, regardless of the weather. Someone who will dance in the rain, and hold my hand when it thunders. Someone who doesn’t mind my midnight walks to nowhere because he understands that sometimes I just can’t sleep. I want someone who wants to explore the nighttime world with me. 

I want goodnight kisses, and well “don’t you look beyond adorable kisses”, Eskimo kisses, and random unprompted kisses that occur just because he can press his lips to mine. I want someone with whom I have a secret handshake; which we only pull out in the most dire of circumstances. I want spontaneity, and trying things just because we could, and secret code words, and inside jokes. I want all these childish things that will keep us young together, because when we are together the fingers of time can’t touch us.

I want someone who will rub the space between my shoulders when I have panic attacks. Who strokes my hair when I cry, and massages the place between my forefinger and thumb when he holds my hand. I want someone who will fight for me. Not necessarily physically, but emotionally, who will see that I’m not worth giving up on, that I, like him, am a work in progress and second chances are occasionally needed, and sometimes we’ll hurt each other but in the end we are always able to move past that and grow. To become better for one another because we make each other want to be better.

I want chivalry, and I want love. Lasting love that my grandkids will talk about forever, one that they will try to mirror their relationships after because, in our own crazy way, we shared a love story that will resonate through the ages.

I want someone who understands relationships are work and that nothing in life ever comes easy. I want someone who wants me for me.

 And most of all I want someone who wants all of these things, and more, from me; because I want to give them.

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So yeah, that's the product of a tired, hopeless romantic Hayley Lovell. Hope you enjoyed.

3 comments:

Nikki Murphy said...

blahhhh,
the skin on my arms is all standing up.

storyqueen said...

And this is why you need to write! Such loveliness...such longing.

That part of me (the part of me that you write from) is still very much alive...that is why I love reading YA books. I think that part of me that fell in love the first time still loves to relive it. That's what the best YA books do--touch those special places in our souls.

Keep at it, Haley!!

Shelley

Alexia said...

I absolutely love this. Amazing, fantastic, phenomenal, beautiful, breathtaking, enlightening, incredible.

I just got into a huge fight with my boyfriend and the paragraph about the hurting and the second chances was really what I needed to read. I hope I get the second chance that you write about in this piece. I envy how comfortable and open you are with writing such personal things on a public blog. I've tried it, and have failed every time because people think it's a cry for attention, or too immature, or just plain stupid. They don't understand that we write to write, that the Internet is sometimes used as a diary and that's okay. It's how people become connected.

Again, love this.