The written word is the entry into my heart. Poetry written just for me, stories, whatever it may be. Tales of your childhood, your life, the horrors you’ve seen, the experiences you’ve had. Show me your vulnerability and depth, show me the darkest place in your soul. The more you expose the rawest parts of you, the most vulnerable and fearful areas that you’re afraid to expose. Those are the things that’ll connect us. Make me crave more, give me more. When I don’t tire of it, when I want it every day, when I desire more on top of it, then you’ll have me.

My father used to write me poetry and tell me stories. They were stories from his life. I remember telling someone long ago that’s probably the way my husband would win me over. He’d tell me stories, he’d write me poetry, he’d win me over with the written word. Because that is to me one of the most courageous acts of all. Stepping deep inside yourself to expose the rawest parts of your soul. Being vulnerable in the most extreme way possible.

Write me something that I inspire? Poetry especially? I am won over endlessly by the most classic romance on earth. Cary Grant style. The cheesy stuff. The daily whispers. Dance with me beneath the moonlight. I’ve never experienced that sort of thing. I’ve known the guys who wanted the fastest route into my pants, or to “lock me down” as it was. Especially when they didn’t want me for me. To be my friend above all else. Didn’t want to be there day in and day out. For a man to control himself and be a complete gentleman or poet at heart and letting it out? Sharing it with me?

My word I’d be done for.

I am not won over by falsities, by facades, by anything but your soul. I am won by time, patience, and steadfastness, with loyalty as well. By exposure of the very core of your being.

I imagine that will be the one I marry. He will be like that. See? I’m a deeply and hopelessly romantic kinda girl. I confess the sin! All because I’ve never had it, never experienced that but from my father. Practical can be romantic. Staying power can be romantic. It doesn’t have to be fairytale-ish, but why can’t it be? Why not a fairytale where you both fight for one another? Both protect one another. Both spoil one another. Give him a back massage after work, give her time off to just take a bath and relax without a worry in the world. Take care of one another.

Not sure why I’ve been thinking about my dad’s notes or where this came from, but as I said I’d do before, I’m exposing myself more on this blog than I have. It all goes into my writing so why not? This is just who I am, the things I think. I make no apologies for it.