Minutes away; I waited years. I’m still not sure which is the most telling.
Maybe it doesn’t matter; maybe connecting is enough. Only bad things come from being greedy. Start small. But don’t be afraid to dream big.
Remember to breathe. And give space. Don’t crowd; never shout. Listen—often and intently. Cherish, never complicate. Make sure she knows that she fucking matters.
Most importantly, adore her. Not just for her attractiveness. But for her mind.
Celebrate the art; dance with her. Drink borrowed champagne at dawn. Just because it’s ridiculous.
Inspire; do not instigate. Let it happen as it needs to—don’t force anything. Let her be however she needs to be.
Hold her hand. Walk with her in the Michigan rain. Count the blue birds when they sing. And watch for the playful foxes on the periphery. Their presence usually signifies positive change.
Think of silly things to whisper in her ear; make her blush. And giggle. Play goofy games. Be young—age is just a fucking number. So buy those fox ears. Then be bold enough to wear them in the world. Because why the fuck not?
It made people smile. And the tin monsters sing.
Use words. But carefully. They can be blunt. So let her soften the rougher edges of your dark experiences.
Collapse into the idea of her. But let her blossom along the way. Foster growth in any way that you can; she deserves that nourishment.
Most of all, protect. Selflessly and with respect. But don’t be afraid to colour outside the lines together. Because that can be fun, too.
Trust your gut; ignore the whispers.
Let yourself feel.
She could make you a better everything.
And she might even like me back…
