Sad girls.

You’d never know what humanity is capable of until you put it to the test.

Never tell sad girls that you want them, until you’re ready to be called at three in the morning because of an anxiety attack. Never tell a sad girl you can take it, unless you can put up with hysterical sobs because of a stupid song. Never tell a sad girl you love her unless you really mean it.

These days, all I see are carcasses of once-happy girls that were full of life. Now, they have spiraled down to depression and every single bad thing will lead them to endless nights of crying and will remember it for exactly forever. I don’t pity these girls, because I know by experience that they wouldn’t want pity. They don’t want to be looked at with sad eyes and with thoughts that dub them as freaks. They need help, but with little attention as possible.

It takes everything, especially guts, to care for a girl like this. It takes everything not to walk away from her when she needs you most. It takes everything not to give up on her when she’s in one of her fits. It takes patience and enough love to make her feel okay again.

The problem with these sad girls, they aren’t very trusting. They think the whole world is against them and would not want to accept help from anyone, even someone who is deeply in love with them.

What they look for is someone they can love them for everything..

Before falling in love with a sad girl, you must fall in love with her bad things. You must fall in love with the way she pushes you away, but wanting you to chase her back. You must fall in love with the way she craves pizza at the most random times and must be prepared to be her delivery boy. You must fall in love with the way she looks after she showers, or the way she looks when she wakes up, or the way she looks like when she’s crying and find them all equally beautiful. You must fall in love with the way she tears up after finishing a great book and be ready to make her tea and hold her until she gets over it.  You must fall in love with her strength as she tries her best to stay happy. You must fall in love with the way she gets all insecure when she doesn’t wear makeup and always be there to encourage her that she looks amazing regardless.

After that, you can fall in love with the greater things. You can love her for the way she smiles as you push her hair into her ears. You can love her when she dresses up for you. You can love her laugh and her rare and happy moments. You can fall in love with the way she leaves little notes to show you she misses you. You can love her when she cooks for you. You can love her while she asks you to do her look for today or braid her hair or pick out her outfit.

If you can’t love her wholly, then don’t fall in love with her at all.

Prove to a sad girl that you are capable of understanding her with all of your heart, never losing your temper, never lifting a hand, never saying harsh words when she doesn’t deserve it. But also being able to make her the best person she can be without being sad with her. Prove to a sad girl that you are capable of giving her the world to the best you can.

To The Idiot Who’ll Love Me Next

I only have two moods: 1) sleep is for the weak and 2) sleep for a week.

You will appreciate the first on nights that you’ve had too much Berocca in the afternoon and we’d stay up until six in the morning, talking about how much you love dogs and how much I love cats. You’ll get annoyed by the second one on nights I’ve had a tough day and knock out the moment I get home.

We will drink coffee in the morning, preferably something light and creamy, and you’d make a face at me as you chug down your dark mocha chip. But you’ll kiss my lips anyway, even if they taste like caramel cream.

I will twist and turn in bed, messing up the blankets, and you’ll laugh at me, listening to me sleep talk. You will find it amusing, mostly because it’s about you and food. Every chance you get, you’d have that urge to push my 1960’s bangs out of my face because it “blocks the view” and you’ll immediately regret asking me to get them. Together, we’ll wait for it to grow out.

I’d talk to you on and on about books, even if you won’t get my references about Why We Broke Up and Looking For Alaska and Pride and Prejudice. You will, however, ask what my favorite song is, and I can’t tell you just one. You’ll learn about He Is We and Regina Spektor and Owl City, and why I love them so much. We’d watch movies together, and you’d be patient with me whenever I hold your hand during the boring parts, or hug you during the scary parts, or whisper questions to you during the exciting part, over-all killing the suspense. You’d be very patient.

This is all very weird to you, but it’s my blanket. It is warm, inviting, familiar. And you’ll wear it around both of us, reveling in it together.

We won’t go to dinner; we never go to dinner. We’d settle with ice cream for me and smokes for you. But when we do, it’s usually with my mother. I would get annoyed by your indecisiveness on whether you want the chicken wings or the salmon, so I’ll order for you. You’ll smile at me apologetically, thankful that I know you like the back of my hand and chose the right thing. My heart will warm at that.

Soon enough, I’ll stop wearing makeup entirely around you. And you won’t even notice because you thought it was natural. It’s not. I’d start wearing shabby clothes, even shabbier than the jeans and t-shirt you’re used to. I will let you play with my hair and touch my shoulders even if I don’t usually let people do that – you’ll understand why when I explain it to you.

We’ll go on Starbucks dates, basketball dates, walking dates. We’ll forget to check our phones and realize only after fourteen missed calls.

Eventually, you’ll discover me. My shape, my rolls, my muffin tops, my waist. You’ll find that comfortable spot on my shoulder where you sleep as we ride in the cab. You’ll enjoy it when I let you lay on my lap and stare up at me as I pepper you with kisses.

You will always let me walk on your right side.

By this time, you’ve realized it. You’ve realized I’m hard to love. You’ll begin knocking on my walls, the ones I’ve built around my head and my heart – even for you. I have created a temporary image for you to believe, but it will all slip away.

As I grow more comfortable with you, start to worry. Not because you’re boring or tedious or anything, but because I’m beginning to feel secure. It is inevitable. I will pull away relentlessly because I am spontaneous and impulsive and run away a lot of times. By this time, you already know this.

I lose all sense of function when I become too secure because all my life, all I’ve known is insecurity. It will feel very stifling. And I will surely mess up. Many, many times.  You’ll be sad and hurt and angry. You will say and do things that will upset me – sometimes because you don’t mean it and sometimes because you do. I will take it graciously.

I am flawed, you know it, though you will feel fed up. Please know that you are flawed also. But it will be too late before you realize that. The footsteps on our hearts will remain, a trace of each other we can never get rid of. But we will both walk away. In the end, like all good things, we are both flawed. And, like all good things, we will fall apart. All things do. That’s just the way life works.