As featured on Thought Catalog.
It’s not you, it’s me. I think, as I watch the wind blow slits of sunlight through the big pine tree in my backyard. You love me in all the right ways: the hand-holding, the forehead kisses, the tenderness, the love that fills me. But you suck at all the other boy things, like taking me on dates or cleaning your room.
But it’s not you, it’s me. It’s the way I can’t stop wishing for things I don’t have, the way my life feels like an open road or a blank canvas and I’m the only one with shoes, with a pen. It’s not the way you make me laugh, it’s the way I want to spend every minute discovering what makes me laugh. It’s not the way you make me smile, it’s how I want to learn what else makes me smile, learn what the world has to…
View original post 368 more words