“But I will not learn to love hesitantly. I do not fall often, I’m choosy, but when I do, it will wash us both ashore.” THIS!
Stop, wait. Seriously, stop, for your own good. Because you’re about four centimeters from my face and you’re making those googly eyes at me that you’ve been trained to make so that I know you’re about to kiss me. And then you’re probably going to ask me to stay over. While that’s all fine and dandy, while I get that, while I’ve “been there, done that,” I don’t want that tonight. I don’t want that for any of the “tonights” in the foreseeable future. I’m about to ask you for something: I’m about to ask you for honesty and risk-taking and frightening frankness, so I figured I might as well start on the same note.
People our age are afraid of the idea of love. It is binding, it is daunting, it’s not cool. Well, for fuck’s sake, I’m not cool. And I want to fall in love; I might…
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