I’m the girl that loves more. I always seem to fall harder and deeper in love with the guy I’m with than he is with me at the time. It’s not so much that he’s not falling too, but more that he seems to be just a few steps behind me.
We aren’t together, but we are. What does that even mean? We’re talking, but not dating. We’re dating, but we’re not really dating. We aren’t official. What are we?
I don’t know; however, I do know exactly how I feel. And if you were to ask me, I’d be open and more than willing to tell you. But I still probably fell too fast, too soon and you’re probably still trying to get your footing. I caught feelings and I’m waiting for you to catch me.
It’s the same story that’s told a million times. If it were up to me, we’d all just share our feelings about each other out loud. Screaming for the world to hear them, and no one would be left with doubts or uncertainties.
So why am I always loving more? Because I’m always so trusting of people. I seem to think that when they come, they’ll always stay. You would think I would have learned my lesson by now, but I haven’t.
I’m an open book with honest words on every page. I want people to open me up and read me and see me for exactly who I am. I don’t want to leave others with questions like the ones they leave me with. Other people shouldn’t have to feel confused about me like I feel about them.
That’s so unfair. They get to go to bed at night knowing that they’re cared about, and I lie awake tossing and turning struggling to dissect every conversation. Analyzing turns into over-analyzing and I become a mess.
My book isn’t open for everyone to see. Only the people I choose are allowed to read the pages. I chose you, and you read my pages and saw me for exactly who I am. But this time, you opened yourself up to me too. I got to read all of your pages and saw the blank ones at the end of the book for where our narrative would soon be written.
I love your story, and you seem to like mine. But that’s the difference. I’m so involved in your story that I’ve placed myself in it. Imagining my character in your story has become a regular thought of mine. I’ve ignored reality and dove straight into your book, and now my reality is shifted by the thoughts of what ours could be.
I don’t want to be the girl who loves more. I want to be on the same page as you, where our thoughts would combine and we would become one. Our story shouldn’t have reservations and fears, it should be honest and straightforward.
You are my favorite book. The one that I want to read over and over again until I’ve memorized the words on every page. And even after I’ve memorized the words, I still want to read it again just because I can’t get enough.
This is the climax of our book. Our readers don’t know what’s going to happen next and can’t wait to turn the page. I want to be your happy ending, and to stop being the girl who loves more. Instead, I want to be the girl who is loved. Preferably, I want to be the girl who is loved by you.
