She makes me want to be less destructive. She makes me want to be a different kind of person, one whose main quality is not uncontrollable impulsivity. I want to be someone who says the right things and can carry on long conversations without trying to cover up my awkwardness with jokes. It’s really hard sometimes to remember that she likes me, especially when I am holding a microscope up to my worst features.
She is my favorite person, someone I can lie down with in a field and listen to Beck and laugh and talk about just about anything. I feel like talking about how much I like her is the opposite of what I should be doing here, for some reason, but it would be harder to write about my week without mentioning her.
It feels so odd, after years of devout pessimism, to fall for someone who completely overturns my dark worldview. It feels a little uncomfortable, that sudden change, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. Nothing is perfect, but everything is better. ♦