It’s for the way you look at me






Four letters. Millions upon millions of meanings. I love her. I love them. I love us.

Mango wine and shitty poetry inspire the mind.

I like that I’m not alone in my struggle to fit into this crazy adult world. We’re all tiny little ducks that are larger than baby ducks but not by too too much.

I think that love is beautiful. I love my friends and I love my family and I love my job. I’m consumed by it.

I lust after it.

Maybe I don’t just want all the love in the world because I want to give it. Maybe I also want all the love because I am an addict.

The high I get when I experience love is like enjoying a fine wine after the most glorious brunch and nap. You never want it to end. You always want to just repeat the cycle of brunch, food coma, nap, wine. Because it loosens your mind and you can feel your heart beating.

Which is funny.

I can hear my heart when I speak to a friend on the phone or when I FaceTime my babies back home.

Can you blame me for wanting to find a source of love–the thing that makes your heart so happy it beats so smooth and hard that it’s almost like it’s pounding on the walls of your skin just trying to get to the source of that love–that is mine to cuddle with whenever I want?

This weekend I went on a trip and I listened to Dancing in the Street.

All we need is music, sweet music.

It’s true. Find the right song and you’ll fall in love over and over and over again.

Beyoncé took us on a trip of finding out about your spouse’s infidelity and the madness that follows. She spoke of what happens when you rekindle that and how she got to the point of forgiveness.

I think. Maybe. Just maybe, I’m going to find my song. Mine own song.

Wish me luck.



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