When you love someone you tend to tell them so much about your past because you’re trying to catch up to the present moment. You’re trying to say, my past has been bloody. My past has been as painful and pounding as an ear ache, but I am still here. I survived it. You’re trying to say, here I am before you. I can be brutal. I can be as harsh and unforgiving as sun burn, but this is how I got to this moment. This is who I am. I am not always kind and lovely, I am so often fierce and cutting and unforgiving. I have made some mistakes I’m still trying to forgive myself for. Please accept it. Please try to love me for it. Here is the muscle and bone of me. It’s frightening. It’s a roller coaster. Here is the meat of me, after I’ve shed my skin, after I’ve left the cicada shell behind. It’s manic. It’s a monster, but it will try to love you well. It will try to leave fingerprints all over you.
— Jessica Therese, Try and Love Me For It
Last for tonight, I promise.
My first thought when I came across this one was: this is what I do all the time – trying to catch up to the present moment, spilling blood as I do so. Suddenly an image of myself and my friend this same time last week sprang to mind; conversations over hot drinks at nighttime, reliving parts of our respective pasts. Then another thought takes form; sometimes I… wonder what’s it like to sit down in this same manner, in this same way, talking about the same topics …with someone I could call as my person.
“Sometimes I wonder what’s it like to be kissed.”
Without meaning to, I think about love a lot lately. The kind that bleeds in poetry and aches the soul. The sort that makes the simplest words flutter, creating images of butterflies in a flowery garden. I’m still not sure that I believe in it completely, the way other girls tend to do, but these days I wonder what’s it like to pour my guts and heart out, as I always do, to someone who will love me in the same way.