If you are considering loving me, you should know.
Loving me is anger (sometimes misdirected) and too large to be carry on baggage. Equal parts stubbornness and naivety. Silence when the words leave me, and too many thoughts first thing in the morning. Loving me is pasta for dinner more often than I care to admit. Clothes on the floor, a million tabs open on the computer, coffee at all hours of the day. Loving me is loving my friends, and their loudness, and our inside jokes that might not ever make sense to you. Loving me is mood swings, and sometimes arguing about things that don’t really matter. Loving me is a thousand miles per hour, or not at all. Loving me is chaos, messy. Cold rooms and apologies. Loving me is the click of the clock and the uncertainty that comes with not knowing what each second could bring.
But loving me is also joy. Bright abundance. Creativity. Silence when you need time to breathe, and listening ears when you need someone to talk to. Loving me is stubbornness, but that means I will always stick up for you. That means you will always know which side I’m on. That means I will always be on your side. Loving me is flourish and poetry and words that mean love in a million different languages. Loving me is encouragement, loyalty, friendship. It is persistence, and drive, and a heart that is willing to swim in the depths of every ocean for you. Loving me is coming with me while I chase my dreams and knowing I’ll be right there when you are chasing yours.
I say all of this, because I want you to know that loving me won’t always be easy.
The entirety of me is not easily swallowed. I am a jigsaw, a complexity, a meal with endless courses. That is to say, I need a lover who loves hard. A lover who loves wholly, who embraces my flaws and cherishes my shortcomings as well as my strengths.
I am not looking to be loved in pieces. A fragmented love never made for a love that could move mountains, anyway.