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Here’s something that you should know before you fall in love with me: I’m a mess. I'm a fucking mess.I try not to whoop when I glide down hills, I like to feel the wind screaming in my ears as I roll the window down on the highway. I like spicy things that burn the roof of my mouth so bad I get a headache, I like looking at the dappled sun through the oaks, I comment about the weather whenever I’m feeling awkward. I try not to lose myself in your eyes, I try not to blush over your broad shoulders or your smile, or the way you take your glasses off and you can see your blue eyes. Sometimes, when I’m feeling bored, I stare at that little plant diorama above my bookshelf and watch as the light dances around all the planets and stars and wish I could be up there. Sometimes I want to lay down on the sidewalk for no reason, and look up at the vast expanse of blue sky, and sometimes I want to look down at outer space and contemplate all that we had. I’m self-conscious and think I’m the most amazing person in the planet. I have an ego, and yet I think no one could ever love me. Sometimes I want to twirl in a long skirt, or write poetry about how gorgeous people are (I can’t write poetry, but you probably already knew that) sometimes I’m feeling sentimental, and sometimes I want to forget everything. Sometimes I want to leave everything behind for a big city, and sometimes I want to stay the same for all eternity, wrapped in the creature comforts of that awkward time in childhood where things matter, but not in the big-scale way they will when I get older. I just want you to know that I fall in love a little with everyone I meet. The way she draws on my shoes, or the way he slinks back in his chair and tilts his head toward the ceiling, the way his eyes dart awkwardly back-and-forth, the way her eyebrows are shaped and how she smiles and that dimple and that chipped tooth that he got from when he was ten and skateboarding. So don’t be jealous, I fall in love with everyone and everything a little every day. But I will love you the most if you treat me right, and I have a feeling you will. And look, i don’t know who I am. I’m not sure if I ever will. It’s that sort of thing that adults tell you when you get a little older but not old enough to truly understand everything or anything. They say that you’ll find yourself, but you need to know that that’s not true. I don’t know who I am, and I never will. All I know is what I like and where I am and all those little things make something me-shaped. It’s weird, I know. But deal with it. I fall in love way too easily, sometimes I feel like crying for no reason, and I really want to be kissed. But not just any kiss, that holy-shit kiss where your lips are swollen and your heart is in your stomach and you just know that you’re not being a teenager and you actually might just come to love someone. I’m scared of how much and just how often I crush on people, how I suck in a little breath through my teeth and make it so painfully obvious that I like you. Oh, I watch too much TV. I hyperfixate on the most random things; ask me about Kaspar Hauser, I dare you. I somehow crave and am scared of physical contact. I shrink away when people put their arms around me or hold my hand, but I want more than anything to be wrapped up in someone’s arms. I love feeling pretty, and when my hair looks alright, and when it looks like fall and the light is more golden and it just smells crisp, you know? I like Lofi and apple cider and making people feel good about themselves. Chances are, if I really love you, I’ll compliment you any chance I get. I’m scared of planes, and maybe commitment, thought I’m not too sure yet, and I’ve never told this to anyone, but I have a specific phrase that I repeat in my head every time I fly or I convince myself the plane will crash. It sounds dumb, so I won’t say it, but maybe if you ask me with your cute smile I’ll tell you. I get so absorbed in all my emotions, and I’m awkward. I cry and I laugh, more often than not together, and I’m scared and never think I’m smart enough. I’m scared of what’s gonna come next, or if I’ll be remembered, and climate change. I’m scared that maybe none of this will work out. I lead a life of contradictions, I realize, and I’ve never told anyone this and it’ll probably only be me who ends up reading it. I’m full of yes-and-nos, endless possibilities, obsessions, crushes, flaws, insecurities, and a fabulous fashion sense and a pair of eyebrows. I’m scared of being honest, that I’m not interesting enough, and that no one will love me because I’m not pretty enough. But, I think, you'll love me. And honestly, that’s enough.
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