I don’t want a love that makes me dizzy. I don’t want to fall head over heels for someone. I want it to be slow, and more importantly, steady. I want to remain standing, with my balance as firmly in tact as it ever is, and calmly say that I love the person next to me.
I don’t want this declaration to be earth-shattering or route-altering. I want these words to mean something to the recipient, but no more than any of the others I say. My love will not be a cage, it will not be an expectation. It will be acceptance, and joy in who they are.
I don’t want someone to compare my eyes to rare gemstones, or promise me eternities. I want uncomfortable honesty in telling me what they truly believe they are and are not capable of.
I don’t want or need to be rescued from anything. I won’t wait patiently in my tower of solitude for someone to notice my wistful sighing and bring me the life I’ve dreamed of. I’m chiseling myself the fuck out of there, and working towards what I want on my own. When the right person comes along, we’ll work side by side to create something that fits us, together.
I don’t want romance. I want reality. Even when it sucks. Even when it seems like hearing I’m the most beautiful woman in the world would be so much more fun than being told that I have lettuce in my hair, again. Because it’s not real. Words are just words, no thought or truth is required to be behind them before they’re allowed to exit a mouth. The next time I swoon over something someone says, it will be because they were speaking with a British accent, or quoting “Friends” flawlessly. I’m not bitter and resentful, it’s just that any starry-eyed dreams I dream these days are reserved for goals I can achieve myself, not for love.
Love doesn’t belong in the stars. It’s not an unobtainable, unreachable cosmic power. It’s here, and it belongs to everyone.