My Story is a Hollywood Movie

I’ve never considered myself to be a relationship girl, or someone who can actually be in one or a serious one for that matter. 

And yet, here I am laying on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. And that’s perfectly fine. We don’t need to say anything, we just lay there holding each other, smiling and sensing what the other is thinking. I can kiss his nose and giggle as he tries to bite me. I can touch his face and smile as he kisses my wrist. He can talk about death and government conspiracies and I’m actually interested. I can ramble and rant on and on about feminism & politics that  only my best friends would listen to (and sometimes not), and he would respond.

And I’m really happy. Every time I’m with him, I just can’t help but smile. When I think of him, I smile. Like, what the hell? How? Why? When? These feelings just came out of nowhere.

We’re literally living the cliché romance. This is the typical story of the broken good girl falls for the misunderstood bad boy who just so happens to be the girl’s best friend’s brother. They go for the person they are least likely to go for. They're polar opposites, but oh, so similar in ways that matter. 

Like, how insane is that? 

I've known him practically half my life and he's the one I didn't look for, didn't wait for, but he just walked through my door and held my hand and was totally okay with the muddy puddle before him. I suppose there was always something there, but this thing didn't ignite until some outside force made us.

And now we're here connecting with each other, the way that we never thought we could. These fireworks of feelings just sort of exploded within us and we’ve attached ourselves to each other. All I can hope for is that this feeling doesn’t end. But of course, it will not be easy.

But I want us to last as long as we can. He’s worth it. I hope I’m worth it for him. 

He’s the tattoo, this permanent presence on my knees that makes me weak but continues to make me stand and walk on my own. A tattoo capable of making me crumble into ecstasy but also solidify me into the strongest person I’ve ever been.

But it’s okay. And we’re okay. And that’s what matters.

It’s literally been a week and I’m laying prostrate for him. Cupid aimed right into my heart and mind, and I welcome the pain and happiness. I see the puzzle pieces finally together as an actual painting instead of a broken art.

We were these lonely shadows under the moon that somehow under the sun, we found each other, even if the other was always there. We finally SAW & FELT each other. So, we played and molded together to make this blob that stuck and unstuck, however always finding each other throughout the day to make shapes and feel the world around them.

He’s that last drop of honey that just won’t come off the comb. No matter how much you shake him off, he’s there, trying to cling on. He’s there to make sure you’re always whole. He’s there making sure you’re who you should be, who you would be, the person you’ve wanted to be. He’s there to make sure you only smile, but when you do cry, he just holds even tighter until the tears stop.

And I don’t know what to make of it. He confuses me, but he does this thing, that when he holds me, the confusion drops to the floor and I can only see understanding in his eyes.

We’re birds that are flying through clear skies. But when would we land? And what happens then? I suppose we’ll just wait & see when the rain comes down. Or maybe I'm just crazy.

Thanks for reading this rant,

Drey