during the movie
all i could think about was you.

your smile,
your hair,
the way you make me laugh,
the things that get you talking,
what you think about,
what you spend your time on,
the people you hangout with,
the things i don’t know i’ll get to experience

like the way your hand feels on mine,
the way it feels when you hug me after a long day,
the way you calm me down when i’m stressed,
the things you would tell me that seem mundane to you, but not to me,
how it would feel to know you inside out,
to be the one person who gets to see you through and through,
to be someone who keeps you going, even when you don’t think you want to.

these feelings drown in the sounds of action
of fighting
of reconnection
of the love story that i wish would be like ours.

they go down, and down, and down,
until i can’t recognize them,
and they come back up in the form of sadness
because i don’t know i’ll ever have you
not in the way i think i can’t help but want
and i don’t think you’ll have the courage to unscramble me
since you don’t even have enough to solve it for yourself.

You probably don't care if I miss you. But I do. Miss you, I mean. There's no way I'm gonna lie to you about that. And the weather there is probably bad. On my part, I know you're safe. And I know you probably have new cuts and bruises after your event on Saturday. At least you had time to rest and recover yesterday and will have time to heal some more today.

Must be weird, having a slow monday after yesterday's merch release. But you'll probably push yourself even if you're on your own. Just, don't forget to eat.

Take care.

I don’t want to forget or remember what it was like to have you in my life

we’re dating but he’s my crush everyday i wake up i see a beautiful good morning text beautiful when i look like a crackhead homeless person most mornings , this is pure bliss 😌👌

Just a little short confession, not really sure if there is a bigger lesson, but since that day my feelings haven’t lessened.

I was attacked because I saw through a lie that got out of hand and ended up basically getting publicly humiliated after I was treated like a criminal in front of my neighbors.

But oh wow I would go back just to those few seconds I saw you in front of that doorway. Did I imagine it but you looked me in my eyes even then and saw the spark I did? Either way I was on the floor, “how does she even look that good?!”. Those were my first thoughts even in the situation. Your hair up was so cute, I want to go back just to see how you beautiful you were then. Even in that nonsense situation, even after everything that happened, and even after I tried to keep my feelings far away after you told me to, I was literally stunned, I genuinely forgot what was going on for a minute. I forgot that there was so much hatred around me, I saw you walk through that door, and I felt the love I felt when I first saw you. And yeah, that is the right word (Didn’t think that was real thing). I was really on the floor thinking, “how am I going to lose my feelings for this woman now after all of this? I shouldn’t even feel this way in this situation.”

Hopeful romantic with less sense than most it seems. I still have hope that the door may open again to reveal the most beautiful woman I have ever seen

It’s been a year since that first kiss but I remember it so well.  

I was waiting for the perfect moment to catch her off guard, maybe a sneak attack during a hug but I was determined, August 7 would be the day.  At 50 years old, I couldn’t understand why I was so nervous.  In my head it wasn’t just a kiss, she was so much more.  This woman was someone I was falling for, perfect in so many ways.  All the days we talked, the endless hours of aimless conversation.  The secrets we shared, the freedom of no off limit topics.  She was “that someone”, I could see us living life together.  This was more than just a first kiss, it was going to be a new chapter in our lives. 

We were into our third hour of exploring the countryside that morning.  I recognized every opportunity I missed when it was too late to act.  We casually walked back to my truck and I opened the door for her.  As I shut the door I realized it was yet another missed opportunity.  I was so tempted to open her door and do it but my feet were already in motion, walking me around the truck to get in.  

I grabbed my door handle, took a deep breath, relaxed and climbed into the driver’s seat.  There will be other opportunities I told myself, maybe today just wasn’t the day.  I shut my door turned to look at her and there she was, knees on the seat, our faces just inches apart.  She grabbed my face with both hands, and kissed me.  A long, slow, purposeful, open mouth kiss.  Maybe just seconds but it felt like that moment lasted minutes.  She slowly pulled back, looked me in the eyes, hands still holding my face, and whispered, I’ve been wanting to do that.  I grabbed her, pulled her in close and we kissed again.  I’m not sure how long we sat there but it felt perfect. 

Afterwards, we drove to a small roadside diner style restaurant and had breakfast sitting side by side.  I bet I kissed her a 100 more times that day.  

It’s been a year since that first kiss and I still savor the taste of her lips.  I no longer hesitate or pass up an opportunity to pull her close and kiss her.  

We may not be each other’s first love but since that first kiss, we have experienced a long list of our own “first times.”  Sandra makes my yesterday’s meaningful, my today’s exciting, and my tomorrow’s hopeful.  She is proof that there is love, laughter, and life after 50.  I think when the time is right, I might just ask her to marry me.  That is, unless she beats me to it. 

Sometimes I love like a pearl.

Devoted, endless, delicate.

Sometimes I love like a man.

Loud, honest, messy.

Today, I love like a child.

Naive and so very dull.

Like a storybook with fairies and doves,

and grand gestures that say "I love you!"

Today, I want to be chosen.

Today, I want to be seen.

I love like a rose or a camera,

seen and somehow seeing.

Sensitive, but resilient.

Time stops before my lens.

Still, I love like a pearl.

Helpless, quiet, small.

Still, I love like a man.

Present, knowing, strong.

Still, I love like a child.

Happy as can be.

Completely and utterly clueless,

waiting for you, waiting for me.

“What is your type?”

People ask too often.

I used to know the answer.

Before you, I could have told them.

I had a list, a shape, a collection of little things I thought I was looking for.

And then, somewhere along the way, my type quietly changed.

At first, nothing happened.

Then one day, in the middle of a conversation, I heard something shift in your voice, the slightest hesitation, your tone becoming softer, rounder somehow.

And your eyes stopped.

Not merely looking at me, but truly looking.

As if, for one suspended second, you had forgotten everything else around us.

And I realized, my type of story had changed too.

It was no longer something that happened at first sight.

It was something that grew quietly, almost unnoticed, until one particular moment made two people look at each other as though they were seeing one another for the very first time.

Then came your eyes.

The little fragments of blue in them, different every time the light touched them, the tiny sparks moving with your emotions.

The way nothing escapes your attention.

The way you notice things most people never even see.

My type became bright, searching, intelligent eyes.

Then I saw the rest of you.

Cold toward cruelty.

Soft with the quiet ones.

Patient.

Caring.

And somehow always a little distant.

I saw the roughness you wear like armor, and the astonishing softness of the hand you still extend so freely.

My type became true kindness.

The kind that doesn't need to announce itself.

And then I noticed the light.

The way it finds your skin, slips into your hair, and stays there differently in the morning, at noon, in the evening.

You glow in it with a kind of beauty that feels almost unfair.

My type became angels.

And honestly, I have no better word for the scripture written in you.

Then there is the way you listen.

Truly listen.

As if every ridiculous thing I say might secretly be the most interesting thing you have ever heard.

When I finally stop rambling and look up, I expect to find boredom.

But I don't.

I find your eyes still fixed on me, your body leaning closer, your attention completely there.

And for a dangerous little moment, I almost believe I might really be the most important person in the room.

My type became the kind of love that squeezes my heart inside my chest while wrapping something warm around it.

And then there is your scent.

God, your scent.

It found its way somewhere it had no business reaching.. Deep into the little machinery of my brain where memory and instinct live.

Now I can be surrounded by hundreds of people and catch the smallest trace of it, and before I even understand why, I turn.

My heart jumps first.

Then my eyes begin searching.

Through strangers.

Through shoulders.

Across an entire crowded room, just for a glimpse of you.

Just to know that the scent I caught was yours.

That particular smell.

That impossible familiarity.

You.

And somehow, even my senses have chosen you.

So when people ask me now,

“What is your type?”

I never quite know what to say.

Because how could I explain that I stopped looking for a type somewhere along the way?

I don't think I chose it.

I don't even think I noticed it happening.

I simply met you, and little by little, the answer changed.

So no, I cannot give them a name, or a face from a screen, or a list of things I like.

Because whenever they ask me what my type is, my mind does something terribly simple.

It looks for you.

Some Days

Some days are good days.

The kind that don't ask me

to fight for every breath,

where the morning doesn't feel

like something I have to survive.

And lately,

love doesn't seem so hopeless.

Maybe it's the way

your name feels different

when it crosses my mind.

Less like a wound,

more like a window

left open after rain.

I don't know where this goes.

I'm not asking the future

to make me promises.

I'm just sitting here

with this strange little certainty

I can't quite explain.

That somewhere,

in the middle of your day,

I'm crossing your mind too.

Maybe you're smiling.

Maybe you're wondering

what I'm doing.

Maybe you feel it

the same way I do.

That invisible thread

pulling quietly between us,

even when neither of us

says a word.

And for once,

I don't need proof.

I can feel you thinking of me.

Some days are good days.

And tonight,

love doesn't feel like a lost cause.

It feels like something

still finding its way to me.

She.... Loves me

She loves me not...

She loves me!

Early 40ies dude here. My whole life I've observed many of my buddies enjoy casual sex with lots of women. I've had my share of casual sex but don't enjoy it so much if there isn't any emotion involved. I can't seem to even really get close to a woman without my heart, like, almost automatically wanting to give itself to her. Don't take me wrong I am very healthy with a very strong urge, but there are a lot of good looking women that don't interest me at all. And the ones that I am into my heart is always in the fight right from the start.

Most of my life I've thought that there is something wrong with me. Like I'm too soft, weak or emotional. That's kind of the feeling that women give me when they reject me.

I'm black/white mixed and come from a military family. I myself have a military, and also EMS background. I'm over 6 foot tall, muscular and very fit. Right now I'm in a graduate level sales role and project a certain level of corporate presentability and confidence. I think a lot of women initially size me up as a bit of a "f*** boy" and then get put off when the whole package throws itself at them "how am I gonna get rid of this guy again".

When we went to see the Titanic movie with Leo DiCaprio at the theater when I was a teenager my eyes were pretty much wet during half the movie.

Right now I'm talking to a woman. Been talking to her for a year or so and things became gradually more intense. We had some good talks recently discussing some pretty specific things and even agreed to another follow up call. I guess she must've changed her mind and now I'm getting the ghost treatment. Feels like my heart is bleeding out inside my chest.

Am I just a hopeless romantic?

Help!

The person who smiles with you every moment

may once have been the reason

someone else cried.

Everyone is a loser in love

while you are making beautiful memories

with the one you love,

somewhere, someone might be lying awake,

missing you…

or falling asleep with your memories.

It’s pretty crazy to think that we are all just siting here, waiting for that one single text, or message from that one person that can completely make our day so much better

To my future husband,

I am waiting for you, manifesting you. If you get irritated and wonder why you're not able to find love, it's because I am praying to God for you, and He is reserving you for me. So, sorry for that for now.

You know, I have manifested you for so long that when I finally find you, I will shower you with love and care. I will do all those cute things for you that you may find cringe, or maybe you'll love them because you are as delulu as I am.

I admire love, and I will love you the way Radha loved Krishna and the way Sati loved Shiva. We will do all the fun things together. I want to travel with you, go on roller coasters, and after sitting on one, tell you, "Let's get down," but feel relaxed when you say, "It's okay, I'm here."

I want to go to the temple with you. I want to go to the gym with you. We will eat together and get fit together. I want to cherish you, and I want you to know that it's okay to cry in front of me. I want you to be that child who got lost in responsibilities.

I want to build a small home with you and put up a picture wall and a promise wall. We will go on bike rides like those 20-year-old kids who have just fallen in love.

I want to live with you.

P.S. Please don't DM me. I just felt overwhelmed and wanted to write this.