I’ve had way too much wine tonight.
I love that no other man seems to sparkle since falling for you. No other man. No attractive celebrity even seems that attractive to me anymore. No one has your dimples when they smile, no one has curls in their hair like you do when you don’t comb it after a shower. No one has your strong legs. No one has your back, or the original design tattoo that I love to glide my fingers across when I happen to be facing your back. I want to be the last girl that ever traces her fingertips along that tattoo’s lines— I hate that any girl ever did before I came along (because even I am a stupid jealous human sometimes). No other man will ever have the husky sound you do when they laugh. No other man has your sense of humor. No other man has your sense of both complete sincerity and complete ridiculousness. No other man. You’re the only one. You’ll always be the only one. No other man has what you have. All of it. I love all of it.
When I get mad at you, I get mad at myself for ever having an ounce of negativity towards you. I get mad. I get mad that I get mad. I get mad at you and then mad at myself for getting mad in the first place and then all I want to do for getting mad is curl up next to you and kiss you, but it’s too soon for you to brush aside my bitchiness. And then I get mad at time for not moving fast enough for you to open your arms and let me curl up next to you and kiss you. I get mad that I forgive and forget faster than you do. I get mad that all it takes for me to completely lose all anger is a simple kiss on the cheek. And I get mad that it’s not as easy for you and that I have to wait to trace your tattoo with my fingertips again until you’ve had some time to process. I get mad that I have to wait.
I love when we’re silly. I loved when we went to breakfast and I pretended to be your pushy alcoholic wife and kept ordering mimosas until the waitress wouldn’t let me order any more. And we laughed like teenagers and you winked at me and smiled and told me, “You’re so hot.” I loved when we stood in the kitchen before making dinner and you said, “You’re so beautiful, you and all your awkwardness, it’s all beautiful.” I love those moments. They mean more to me and weigh more to me than any moment we ever let our bad side show. That’s the power of positivity for me. They are quick moments in time, but they stick to my heart like super glue. Negativity doesn’t stick to me the way love does.
I hate that you’re mad at me right now. I hate that I was mad at you earlier. I hate that all I want to do is curl up next to you and take you to bed, but I have to wait because I know you wouldn’t accept my arms around you right now and if I tried, I’d just get mad again when I was denied. And then I’d just get mad at myself for getting mad at you, again.
I hate me. And sometimes, I worry I always will.
Edit: I hate that I’m a 27 year old woman who had a shitty day and is venting to tumblr in a moment of drunken self-loathing. Can I get any more pathetic?
When I’m dead, will you be sad?
I couldn’t live without you.
Motörhead drinking game:
- Drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels every single day
- Somehow never die