Dear heart

Band aids are not meant to be a healer. They simply cover up your wound. Aids never do what really needs to be done, they just kind of help. They’re magical when you’re little because you think they heal you. They “stop” the hurt. Not really though; they just distract you. You don’t know any better because you’re young, confused, and fall to the illusion. They’re fun and pretty and you can pick ones that you really like. When you’re older, you usually resort to flesh colored band aids. While they’re not exactly invisible or perfectly camouflaged, they’re not as obvious and people don’t always know you’re really hurt. It’s kind of like the same thing when you get out of a relationship. Underneath you’re still hurt. But you go out and find a fun, pretty person to spend time with, the band aid. They distract you. The reason why you’re hurting is still there. This person can occupy your time a lot, but every few days you pull back the band aid because you’re still hurt and contact the one you still love. You use and abuse that band aid to cover up whats wrong. You can use all the ointment- movies, music, parties, outings- and band aids-dates, new “lovers”- over the wound, but the body doesn’t heal from the outside in. You can choose from all types of rebounds and band aids. The cheap ones only give you one-night, temporary satisfaction. The waterproof ones may let you cry to them and try to block out the sting of your pain. There are even some really quality band aids that have a lot going for them, but underneath, you’re still not whole. No band aid can ever compare or have all the qualities to the person before. Some people choose to keep that band aid on for a really long time, but when they take it off there will be a yucky scar because they neglected the wound. They will have wished they took off the band aid and given it attention and care. I would hate to be a band aid… but in a lot of ways I regretfully think I am.. As much as I hope and pray and cry that i’m not just your wastefull band aid, I hope what we have is real and lasts.

Things are different now. No other eyes are as captivating. No other smile is as contagious.
No one else’s words are as reassuring. No other arms are as comforting. I don’t long to hear any other voice on the other side of the phone. I don’t get butterflies at the thought of anyone else. Things are different now. When another walks by, I no longer give a second look. It’s like no one else exists; no one but you. They say that “love is blind;” and if anything, I’m only blind to everyone else. No one can measure up to you. They always fall short. Things are different now. Seeing through the eyes of love is like seeing under a microscope. I see things in you that I could never see in others, with my old eyes naked of love. Each little quirk, story, and moment with you are like the cells that make you who you are to me. The more I know you, discover things about you, the deeper I fall, captivated by the simplistic nature of who you are. It’s as though I’ve discovered something for the very first time, and now that I know of its existence I can’t imagine a world without. Things are different now. As I learn about you, I am also learning about myself. I’ve never felt like I quite belonged in this world until now. Until I had someone to walk beside me, encourage me, dream with me. Things are different now. I smile at the thought of you. I cry at the thought of being away from you. I fear, always have and always will, but with you it’s a different fear. It isn’t so much a fear of you causing harm, but a fear of losing you to the unknown. Things are different now. I let my guard down. Give you a straight shot to my heart and all that I am. I trust you. Something that is not easy for me to do. Things are different now. I love this difference: the joy, the anxiousness, and the longing. I hate this difference: the unknown, the risks, and the doubt. Things are different now. Please, be careful. I never thought this would happen. I had given up hope. But here you are…my hope in love, in true happiness, in the future. Things are different now. Thank you.

I will find somebody for whom I am prepared to show not just the strong, independent side of me that the rest of the world know, but also the insecurities that make me wake up in the middle in the night crying because I’m sick of hurting.

Sometimes I think I act like some kind of pseudo-psychologist- know -it -all deeper than the ocean -star crossed lover -big picture thinker -creative soul- kitchen sink astrologer -with daddy issues -who over stays her welcome.

I’m insecure, and I’m naive, and I give it all away up front. I talk during movies and know endless amounts of useless band trivia. In short, I am annoying. I am that sappy eyed puppy child that follows all the cool kids around.

I am the best friend who falls in love with you, but keeps quiet. I am the kind of girl who actually thinks a letter like this one could really change someone’s mind. I wonder how many of my memories of you are just my own fantasies mulled over a million ways
and projected onto every surface, reflected and refracted off your eyeballs into mine, so that I think they’re reality.

you were the foreman of my heart but your burnt the blue prints and quit the project (“I can’t work in these kind of conditions”) But I kept working overtime, doing your job, I’m breaking my own heart now so that you don’ have to get stressed out over that too. you are the proverbial charming trouble maker loved by school girls and teachers and mothers alike. it’s like Tyler Durden taking Peter Pan’s Wendy out for a milkshake. one glass, two straws.

but I didn’t feel stupid around you. I didn’t feel the girl in the “after” picture. I didn’t feel like a square -wet blanket -sissy tattle- tale -brace-face -cry-baby. I know you don’t kiss all the girls like that. or maybe you do. maybe I don’t give a shit either way (she tried to say with conviction but the stupid little heart on her sleeve gave her away) I know when you dream, you dream of yourself but better, and not an asshole.

I wonder if you lay around naked eating cereal and laughing hysterically with all the girls. I wonder if you hand select the tunes you are going to play for them. I wonder if a bottle of whiskey and takeaway is just your “go-to” date when you can’t think of anything creative to do. I wonder if you always inch your hand towards theirs under the covers after a fight as your silent way of saying sorry. I wonder if you tell all the girls that “right now you just wanted to hold them as tightly as you could.”

I wonder if they all have nicknames. I wonder if all of them let you fuck them in their kitchens and bathrooms and in cars parked next to that apartment complex, and on trampolines or beach towels in the garden. I wonder if they all know how wonderful you really are.

I wonder if I was special, but for the first time in my life not because my daddy ran away and boys wouldn’t look at me that way and I never got asked to dance and my ipod didn’t have cool music on it and I laughed too loud and didn’t wear thong underwear and I was scared we would get in trouble and I gave it all away up front and I talked during the movie and I was always embarrassed or hurt or worried and I need you to tell me that I’m pretty and funny and witty and smart and great in bed and a fantastic dancer and that I “get” you and it’s me and you against the world and we talk like were in a woody allen film and the soundtrack sounds like garden state and that you run through the airport and say “oh my god, I love you like no one has ever loved you or will love you and whatever you do please don’t get on that plane because I can’t sleep can’t eat can’t breathe without you I think you’re the one let’s get fucking married.”