I used to have big ideas.
I used to speak intelligently about art and music.
I once discussed philosophy at two in the morning on the steps of a fountain in weather so cold that my breath froze into tiny perfect crystals before it fully left my mouth.
I was passionate and articulate.
I was also a size two.
I used to speak intelligently about art and music.
I once discussed philosophy at two in the morning on the steps of a fountain in weather so cold that my breath froze into tiny perfect crystals before it fully left my mouth.
I was passionate and articulate.
I was also a size two.
And, somewhere between there and here, I've grown. And I've grown up. And, for the most part, I do not regret this. I have three amazingly gorgeous and intelligent Munchkins. I've left my legacy in their soon-to-be-capable hands. I am a confident woman who's finally grown comfortable in her own skin. I'm capable of balancing my checkbook, snaking a drain, parallel parking downtown in three moves, reading bed time stories and choosing both a good bottle of wine and a ripe cantaloupe.
I have cultivated friendships that are extensions of my family. I finally understand what it is that I'm good at and am able to draw confidence, for the most part, and poise around me like an armor these days. And yet, despite all that, sometimes all it takes is something as simple as a bad romantic comedy to bring the shattered bits of my heart to point.
I know love isn't fluff and fairy tales. I know, with every bit of intelligent thought that I possess, that there IS no perfect guy out there waiting to sweep me off my feet. That love, true love, is about work and commitment as much as it is rainbows and puppies and holding hands. It's about sharing a part of yourself even if it hurts. But sometimes, late at night, when I'm curled up on the couch, I close my eyes and want.
I want the spark. I want that moment that the world goes all slo-mo and blurred at the edges like a David Bowie video; That moment your stomach does carnival-ride flip flops. I want that moment where your skin prickles and your breath hitches in anticipation.
Call it fake. Call it temporary. Explain it away in lab terms and chem words if you want.
But, oh, that moment. That first spark of excitement that unfurls at the base of your spine; licks it's way up the back of your neck and sends fingers of awareness to wrap around your brain, winding its way through every limb.
There's nothing like it.
It's a glance. A half smile. the anticipation of something new that's makes me giddy in that grey area between pleasure and pain.
It's worth it.
I have cultivated friendships that are extensions of my family. I finally understand what it is that I'm good at and am able to draw confidence, for the most part, and poise around me like an armor these days. And yet, despite all that, sometimes all it takes is something as simple as a bad romantic comedy to bring the shattered bits of my heart to point.
I know love isn't fluff and fairy tales. I know, with every bit of intelligent thought that I possess, that there IS no perfect guy out there waiting to sweep me off my feet. That love, true love, is about work and commitment as much as it is rainbows and puppies and holding hands. It's about sharing a part of yourself even if it hurts. But sometimes, late at night, when I'm curled up on the couch, I close my eyes and want.
I want the spark. I want that moment that the world goes all slo-mo and blurred at the edges like a David Bowie video; That moment your stomach does carnival-ride flip flops. I want that moment where your skin prickles and your breath hitches in anticipation.
Call it fake. Call it temporary. Explain it away in lab terms and chem words if you want.
But, oh, that moment. That first spark of excitement that unfurls at the base of your spine; licks it's way up the back of your neck and sends fingers of awareness to wrap around your brain, winding its way through every limb.
There's nothing like it.
It's a glance. A half smile. the anticipation of something new that's makes me giddy in that grey area between pleasure and pain.
It's worth it.
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