I remember being eighteen and thinking I wasn’t ever going to love someone again. I remember thinking I would probably end up an old lady in a cabin in the middle of the woods, writing and drinking tea and pretending I wasn’t lonely. I’d convinced myself that was a preferable life to settling for anything less than my soulmate. I thought because the world is such an enormous place and there are so many people that only a very very rare few ever actually meet that person, the only one meant to last. I still believe that part. It just so happens that I am one of those very very rare few. One day I’m going to marry him in the woods, and maybe one day we’ll build a cabin there and fill it with love and laughter and babies, and I’ll still write and I’ll still drink my tea, but I’ll never have to pretend that I’m not lonely, because I’ll never be alone anymore now that I know there is a person out there who’s insides match mine, a person I would be with even if the world stopped turning.
Dear eighteen-year-old self,
For the next five years you’re going to encounter a variety of boys…some kind, most not so kind. Some will make picnics for you in fields, pick you flowers and write songs about you, and some won’t be able to tell you what color your eyes are or your mother’s name and they will never remember your favorite flower. They’re all important and necessary. The kind ones will teach you hope, and the unkind ones will teach you to be good to yourself. One day you’re going to meet a man with eyes more blue than your grandfather’s and your first kiss with him will be outside in the rain during a lightning storm. You will know then. You will recognize love in its purest form. You will stay out in the rain with him until your dress is a wet rag and your hair is a mop. Afterwards he will wrap you up in a towel and hold your hand and your heart will never feel the same again.
P.S. The soulmate thing? It’s totally real.
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"If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you."
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"On his last human day, he put his head in his hands and sighed and I stood up and kissed the entire back of his neck, covered that flesh, made wishes there because I knew no woman had ever been so thorough, had ever kissed his every inch of skin. I coated him. What did I wish for? I wished for good. That’s all. Just good."
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Just be fucking honest about how you feel about people while you’re alive.
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