Saturday, November 14, 2015



 After I had sex for the first time it was like a wall holding me in had been broken down and I kinda had a lot of one night stands (this can also be because of how things ended with that person) and while I might say it from time to time deep down I’m not a “I need to just get laid” kind of person. I never really understood why so many people subscribe to that being so damn important. I understand that physical contact and gratification can be rewarding in its own ways. I get that. But without emotional connection, it doesn’t do anything for me. The “hottest” person can walk into the room I’m in or be interviewed by Jimmy some night on TV….but the second they reveal their lack of intelligence or sense of humor, I’m done. Zero attraction.


I don’t necessarily need that. Sex as a vehicle for intimacy? Yes. I’m on board with that. I’m on board like train passengers or cheese and charcuterie.

But I’m equally on board with curling up on the couch, and long conversations into the night about why we think the universe operates a certain way. Or quietly sitting on a beach shoulder to shoulder, stealing glances at each other while we wait for the sunset. I want to hold your hand as you listen to my story of why my relationship with my father is so hard for me to think about sometimes. I want to be the person you call when you get amazing news. I want to be able to laugh at you doing something so catastrophically stupid even though I know laughing at you in that context annoys you. I love that when I have a bad day and I’m out of town, that you describe your dinner plans to me in detail because you know that weirdly makes me calm down. I love that you know I have a weakness for you cooking for me.  I want to be able to know exactly what to do and say to make you feel better when we’ve known each other for years. I can’t wait to tell everyone the story of how we met.


I want the small details and the big gestures. I want the sleepy “good nights” when we’re in the same place and cheesy “good morning” texts when we’re apart.
I want a life together. Not just a night.



Thursday, November 12, 2015

Is it the little things that make me love you? Yeah, sure, it’s the little things… if by little you mean the monumental details that hold the weight of the world in the core of my soul–the major moments when I don’t expect anything significant and you do something with such care and ease that I stare at your chest knowing I’ve never seen your heart any clearer. It’s the times you’ve kissed my shoulder when no one was watching, the way you look at me when I’m hurting, and how you still answer my endless questions with patience and tact. It’s how you so often respond the exact opposite from how I expect you to, and the way you listen and talk with such transparency and grace–yeah, I love you because of those “little” moments that plant themselves deeply and daily in our story. These “little” things that sprout promising implications, screaming through the silence of my doubts–those “little” things you do–all rippling through my stillness, shattering my hesitations, and holding up my broken weary head with bold handsome hands–sure, it’s the little things that make me love you, but they’re not little at all when I’m on the front lines watching your heart unfold. These little things are massive, because if they were little at all, I wouldn’t have the honor of knowing you so thoroughly. It takes love to know when something little is actually big, you know? So, it’s the big things that make me love you, really. Don’t you see all you are to me? You are proof that life is beautiful because the evidence is constantly blooming from your soul, pouring from your mouth, gripping in your fingers, blinking in your eyes. You make our little moments rumble with color–making little moments not little at all.
— LB