There was once a time when I would happily wear one of the above t-shirts, firmly believing in the truth the words imprinted on it held.
That time was before you.
I now wonder, why was I so much in love with fictional males?
I do have the answer for that, by the way.
They were one quality, described so beautifully that they seemed impossible to have. And since when have we not wanted something we can’t have?
The authors are also talented enough to make a particular Mr. Douchebag sound appealing to the female masses through rare redemptions, often supplied with unforgettable metaphors which build up on his “broken angel” aura and make his douchebag aura seem acceptable. Swoon-worthy even. Or they’d go for a more sensitive chap, you know, the warm, tragically friend-zoned, quotes and poetry hoarding kind, with spectacular brown hair.
Yes, that was the dream, until you came bumbling along.
You were everything I never knew I needed. Sure, you don’t give the kind of replies I expect when I type something deep. You get away with a “hmmm” while I would rage at anyone else who’d use the word as generously as you do (I haven’t known a bigger conversation turn-off than that word, seriously). Your flirting skills embarrass me, sometimes. You commit cringeworthy grammatical errors and poetry has never been relevant to you.
But, you make me very happy.
You make me happy through the cheesy pick-up lines you use to counter something cute I just said. You make happy when you listen to everything I say and patiently wait, knowing there’s more. You make me happy through the fact that you care about what happened in my day. You make me happy because you stay when I ask you to leave, because you know this is going to pass. You make me happy because you believe me when I say I love you and be a perfect little tease before saying it back with full fervour.
You have made my life a perpetual carnival and I can’t remember ever being more excited to get on a ride, and live.
More than anything, however, you make me feel radiant when I see you and am reassured that you are more than a piece of fiction built up from the remains of my forlorn heart.
You are real and better than fiction; and you should know, love, that’s huge coming from a manic bibliophile like yours truly.