Unconcerned with restraint. <reblogged frome erica>
I’ve been thinking lately about why women never outgrow the compulsion to confess our love with grand gestures.
Why we never stop wanting to create mix tapes and take on the yolk of your last name and tattoo men’s initials onto our flesh. I am not excluded from this group. I am drawn too – even as part of me knows it will not be matched. Worse, not even fully appreciated. I understand the men we love may be lovely and faithful and present, but they will not be compelled in the same way, with the same amount of steady fire. Where does your fire go, gentlemen? Why do you adore us with such fervor early on and then settle in to such comfortability, such conventional tepid affection.
Why don’t thoughts of us still bounce and rise through your day, and rage through your nights?
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