Floating In Forever

Standard

Now that I no longer have anymore excuses, the constant annoying squabble about getting married is hovering in the air and buzzing in my ear. Yes, like every girl; tomboy or not; I have dreamt about my wedding day and made a mental scrapbook about all the wants and unwants. But this is not what I imagined, this nightmare.

I’ve not been one to stay quiet and wait, I’ve always been the go-getter. A whirlwind of emotions. However at this point, I’m tired and I’m fed-up. For once I’d like to be the princess waiting for her knight in shining armor instead of riding in search of him.

I don’t want to start the first conversation. I don’t want to make the first move.

I want the shyness of the first meeting. The mystery in the air. Making me want to act like a girl; wear high heels, paint my nails and wear perfume. The gifts I don’t need. The chivalrous moments; of holding the door, my chair and my shopping. The endless discussions of ideas. Love letters. Lines of poetry, stories and lyrics.

I’m a dreamer. I’m a realist. Such a contradiction.

Mother says I need to get out more, change the person that I am, talk to more people, show the world who I am – I don’t really want to. I’m happy the way I am. I get out enough for myself. I talk to loads of people. The world can very well see who I am, it’s not blind and I’m not invisible. I’m not playing hide-n-seek.

I’m here.

I don’t need to be saved. I just want to be needed.

This piece says it all đŸ˜€ ~http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/i-want-a-tuesday-kind-of-love/

Advertisements

Leave a tear drop, heart break or brilliant smile :-)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s