Falling In Love

Falling in love is the best thing ever. The butterflies, the stupid smiles, the endless thoughts of how amazing this person is and how lucky you are to have found them.

It’s a beautiful thing.

I don’t often fall in love, I think because I close that part of myself off from the rest of the world… because I don’t think they want it. Not from me, at least.

And it usually works pretty well. I don’t get hurt very often because I don’t allow myself to get hurt. And that saves me a lot of money on depression food. Why they have yet to  begin marketing an ice cream flavor called “he don’t want you, bitch” is beyond me.

They would have the market cornered.

But when I do open myself up, it’s like I step into this wonderful world of joy and happiness and all those other gay emoting phrases that I refuse to list out. You get where I’m going with this. It’s fucking awesome.

I’m feeling those things right now. I’m falling in love.

I never thought, after the way last year went, that I would find a person that could make me feel so good about myself. Like I’m actually worth their time. Like it isn’t a chore to be around me.


Because, you see, when you’re alone with someone, that’s when you really know. When you’re alone with someone, there are no distractions, no buffers, nothing to hide them from you, or you from them.

The both of you are forced, in that moment, to be face to face, with nothing but the other person to feed off of.

And sure, we have electronics, and music, and those awkward pauses when you can’t make conversation flow, but even so, the feeling of being with that other person is still there.

And if that isn’t something that you can handle, you will know.

And if that isn’t something that you want, you will know.

I’ve been alone with this person so many times in the last month. And each time just gets better and better.

I’m learning so many new things about them. And they’re actually really interesting.

And they’re beautiful.

I’ve known this person for years now, but it wasn’t until recently that I truly appreciated them.

And I’m not afraid to show them my true self. And because of that, I’m learning that this is real.

This is real love. And not that fake shit they talk about on the internet.

You know, relationship goals? Fuck that shit, dude.

I don’t want to waste my time with someone who dresses like me, or speaks like me, or has all of the same interests as me. I don’t want to date someone just so we can take selfies while sharing a four piece chicken nugget from Mcdonalds.

Seriously, thats how you bitches look.

You take chicken nugget selfies.

Do better.

No, I want to be with someone who is so different, who I have to take my time to learn about. I want to explore their interests, and have them reveal new things about themselves to me every day.

Of course, it’s important to have a few things in common, but whats more important is the willingness and openness to trying new things.

Take an interest in their lives. Don’t live them.

Otherwise, fuck the other person. Just go out to dinner by yourself every Friday night and jack off two to three times a week. It’s basically the same thing.

This person and I do share a lot of the same interests though. We dress alike too.

In fact, the only thing that is really different about this person and I are our personalities.

That makes sense though, seeing as this person is me.

The old me. The one who was happy, and confident, and loud, and less of an alcoholic.

This past month, I’ve been falling in love with myself, as I used to be, when I was happy. Because I actually am that person again.

And I think my friends like this person better. And I’m sure that the ones who haven’t met him yet will too. Because he’s fucking awesome, dude.

I’m fucking awesome.

And I hope that I don’t lose this version of myself ever again.


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