I feel this pressure of being a strong and independent icon of womanhood and not making it look like my whole life is revolving around some guy. But Loving someone and being loved means so much to me. I always make fun of it and stuff but isn’t everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?
I don’t know. Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times, it seems silly like it would ruin my whole life. And it’s not just a fear of commitment or that I’m incapable of caring or loving because I can. It’s just that, if I’m totally honest with myself I think I’d rather die knowing that I was really good at something that I had excelled in some way than that I had just been in a nice, caring relationship.
If there’s any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know it’s almost impossible to succeed, but who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt.