You really want to know how to get the girl? How to keep the girl?
This is what I would tell you --
Tell her that she's magic. Tell her that her bruised heart is perfect and tell her that she's pretty when you know she's dressed up just for you and tell her she's pretty even when she doesn't feel like she is. Tell her she's worth it when the world is oppressive and hard, and tell her that she's smart. Tell her, my god, tell her that she's sexy. Because she won't always see it - won't always want to look at what you're showing her. Tell her that you'll always be there - that you'll always be looking for her in crowded rooms, and then mean it. Let her eyes find yours over and over and let your looks wash over her parched soul. Tell her you'll never lie to her and then feed her so much straight honesty that she is whiplashed by your truth. When her demons roar at night and she's breathless with a nightmare or an untruth that circles her head when the lights go dim - you tell her again. Whisper against the dark - you're more perfect than even the stars.
And in those quiet moments right before she falls asleep - when her breathing is low and slow and you know she is completely at peace with her day - that's when you tell her that you only love her. Even if your voice shakes. Even if your heart cracks open and you're afraid. Even if every time you've ever said those three words, it's turned out pear-shaped. You tell her. And don't ever stop.
Give her your time. Sweeping chunks of time when you only look at her. When you only hear her. When you only focus on her and what you both are building. Because what you're building needs extra attention. What you're building is a foundation that will withstand hurricanes of bad days and bad choices and bad hurts. In the gift of your time, you give her the gift of you choosing her. And the choice is the fire. The choice is the truth. The choice is the most hopeful thing you can give her. Every day. Give her slow Saturday morning breakfasts and Tuesday night movies. Give her the windows down on Sunday afternoons, and give her those quiet nights in the kitchen when you see her swaying to music. You link your arms with hers and you give her three minutes of a shared melody.
Take her. And I don't just mean take her. I mean take her with you. Take a piece of her smile or the look she gave you Saturday night bushing your teeth together, or the taste of her laugh on your lips. Take something of her with you wherever you go. Remember bits of her while you eat your lunch, smell a part of her on your shirt when you're having drinks with the boys, feel her hands still pressing into your shoulders during your commute. Remember how restless she feels most of the time - how claustrophobic and trapped. When the every day starts to push on her chest and she looks at you with caged eyes, you take her. Far.
Touch her. And I don't just mean touch her. I mean leave your thumbprint on her heart and I mean reach into her and leave a piece of yourself behind. Hold her hand in the car and hug her goodbye in the mornings when you leave for work. Play with her hair while you watch TV, and when you're at the dinner table and you feel her toes dig into yours, don't move away. Never move away. Don't ever be the guy that moves away from her touch ... because that's something a girl never forgets.
Do all of the things that some boys should do: open the door for her - all doors - car doors, front doors, restaurant doors. Introduce her to your friends and look at her with such raw admiration in your eyes that it takes her breath away.
Be the guy that takes her breath away.
Sit in her corner and wait for the opportunity to fight for her. Because it will come. A moment will come - a chance for you to prove that you aren't the leaving kind.
The giving up kind.
The walking away kind.
You see, problems will still arise. Big ones. Things you can't control or things she can't control. Or hell - even things you can. You'll make dumb decisions, and oh my sweet Jesus - so will she. Those are the days that you hunker down together and you'll have to remember.
You remember your choice. And it's her.
And she'll remember her choice. And it'll be you.
Every single time.
. About Moi .
I love, love, love flannel sheets and I am really passionate about lists on post it notes and most of the time I'm sad that no one else is as excited as I am about Diet Mountain Dew. I also adore run-on sentences.
He saw her before he saw
anything else in the room.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
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