I never asked to be in love.
It seemed to average, too caging.
“If I fall in love with only one person,”
I thought,
“I may miss out on falling in love with everyone else around me.”
The thing is, the sea is FULL of fish, and I wanted them all.
Until recently, that is.
I can’t sing pretty love songs,
I can’t be beautiful,
I can’t speak lovely words,
and I can’t be graceful and charming.
I can be wild,
I can dance until I die,
I can write eloquently,
and I can laugh loudly.
I’ve never been enough of a girl to be taken seriously;
they all just pass by me flirtatiously,
occasionally taking what’s not theirs,
but in the end,
I’m still the untamable gypsy soul that can’t commit.
Until recently, that is.
I’ve never meant enough to myself to consider love—
love is for girls that want and deserve knights in shining armor.
I’ve always been willing to settle for a hobo with a nice smile,
or a drunk with too much compassion for his own good,
or a pothead without the slightest care in the world.
Who was I to take a good girl’s good boy?
Instead I was easy,
playful,
totally reckless.
Until recently, that is.
Because recently, I fell in love.
After long months of pointless denial
including sleepless nights
and days too tired to eat,
I gave in.
I fell,
expecting to hit hard and be hurt,
be abandoned.
That didn’t happen, though.
Maybe love found me,
finally taking me over after victimizing me for years.
Or maybe I found love
amid the clutter
of disguised broken-ness
and best friends.
It doesn’t hurt to fall when you’ve got someone to fall with.
It feels like the heartbeats of a bird in summer.
A bright red bird that chirps about,
it’s heart beating faster than the lazy sky,
and more peacefully than the world.
That’s what love feels like,
even though I never asked to be in love.
