The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to feel so relieved. When you get your heart broken for the first time, you can’t imagine loving someone else again or having someone else love you. You worry about your ex finding love before you do, you worry about being damaged goods. And then it happens. Someone else loves you and you can sleep well at night.
The second time you fall in love with someone, it’s going to feel different. The first time felt like a dream almost. You were untouched, untainted by anyone. You accepted love with wide open arms and desperation. “Love me, love me, love me!” So you did. And then it fell apart and left you shocked to the core. You realized that people could be cruel and break your heart. You realized that people could stop meaning the sweet things they said to you just yesterday. So when you go into it again, you’re going to keep in mind everything that you’ve learned. You’re going to say, “Love me, love me, love me…until you don’t. In which case, I would like some advance warning. Thanks!”
The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to compare it to your first love. That’s okay. That’s natural. You’re going to be studying the new love with judgement and wariness. “My ex never liked broccoli. Why the hell does this one eat so much broccoli?!” Discovering that you have the ability to love multiple people who are different and feel different is initially very jarring. Loving an unfamiliar body will leave you disoriented and in dire need of a map. That’s okay too. That’s to be expected. Just ask the new love for directions.
The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to suffer from a bout of amnesia. You’re going to poke and prod at your lover’s body and be like, “Wait, how do I do this again? How do I love you? I think it starts with us having a moment together in some coffee shop, right?” It’s going to feel scary at first. Falling in love is sort of like riding a bike though. You never really forget.
The second time you fall in love with someone, you’ll be a more sane person. Your first love is when you get all of your insanity out. You behave like an insane monster because your mind is freaking out about all these new powerful feelings. By the second time, however, you have an idea of what works and what doesn’t. It’s by no means perfect. The insanity will make a cameo at some point. “Peek a boo. I’m here! Hope you didn’t forget about me!” But you can usually shoo it away after awhile.
The second time you fall in love with someone, you will hopefully have better sex. Do not quote me on this.
The second time you fall in love with someone will still be exciting and you might even talk about moving in together or marriage. It will feel more “adult.” You have no idea what adult love actually is but you think it involves making coffee for each other in the morning and maybe even getting a dog. “This is my dog, Xan. I got him with the second person I fell in love with because that’s what you do! The first person I was in love with would’ve killed a dog.”
The second time will not be the first time. The first time is an insane magical life gift that you can never reclaim. But that’s okay. The second time is more real anyway. The second time can involve some amazing love.”
November 19, 2012
I would also love to know just how much, if at all, you loved me too.
John Mayer — Free Fallin’
Every writer has a cold heart. It lives inside the apartment building of their ribs, on the very top floor close to the fire escape, where it can flee through the window if need be. They like to ruin the things they write about. Even the moon feels broken when they’re done with it. Nothing a writer mentions in their work can ever be whole again.
If writers had gardens, they would be full of words, buried deep down under the sweet dark soil like vegetable seeds. They take root and grow there, sometimes for months, sometimes for years, until a story is born, and then they bloom. That’s why so many well-known authors had green thumbs. In their spare time you can find them out on the terrace, smoking a cigarette or drinking tea, maybe down at the beach with their limbs splayed out in the water like the five points of a star.
Writers are easy to fall in love with. They make their lovers feel like ghosts, transient and luminescent. When they have sex it’s never just sex. They speak when they’re making love, endless sentences of poetry and prose. Some of their best works are created when wrapped around the body of another. They’re always taking mental snapshots of the way their skin fits into someone else’s. They notice every little thing. Each bruise, freckle, callus, and vein. They could write an anthology all about the hidden parts of the body.
When a writer captures you, all you can do is stand like a deer in headlights until they’re finished with you. They’ll keep you locked up in their den for days, their pen endlessly moving across paper. You’ll never forget the sound of that typewriter. It’ll haunt you in your sleep. They’ll let you drown. If you were at the bottom of the ocean, with the bubbles already escaping from your lips, they wouldn’t save you. There would be no anchor to throw down to you, no lifeboat to come your way. Writers always let their subjects drown. It’s just easier that way.
And if a writer falls in love with you, you’re done for. Be prepared for a terrifying existence. They’ll want to watch you all the time. You’ll live off of ramen noodles and packets of instant coffee, and your limbs will always be wrapped around theirs in the bathtub. The coldness of their heart may melt a little, until it’s less like the Arctic and more like a glacier. Only you can warm your hands over their fire. But they’ll kill you, slowly, without mercy. They’ll kill you with pure poetry and prose. You can never escape from their stories. If a writer falls in love with you, you will forever be caught up in the web of their words.
I fucked up— I have to admit.
Yeah, it was my fault that all of this happened.
I let a good one get away.
A great one, actually.
I know you probably don’t think of me the same,
But I just want you to know that I’ll be here for you.
Even if we don’t talk anymore.
Maybe it wasn’t love, YET, but I honestly did love you.
No matter how short of a time we shared.
I remember whispering to you in the car, “I love you…”
And you said, “ALREADY?!”
Yes, already. It didn’t take that long for me to fall for you.
I fell for you. Hard.
I waited almost 3 years to have that moment with you.
I remember our first real kiss. I had a couple shots, but I still remember everything.
Everything. Those butterflies circling around in my tummy.
The “finally” moment… I was the happiest person in that house.
I had a permanent smile on my face.
And when we finally connected, I lost my head.
I’m such an asshole. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.
I’m sorry that we never had a proper closure.
I’m sorry I ignored all your texts and calls.
I’m sorry for rejecting your invites to talk everything out.
You can put all the blame on me. Because, well, you were nothing but good to me.
You gave me genuine happiness.
I’m sorry for not returning it.
I’m sorry for everything.
I’m sorry that you have to see it on here. (or maybe not)
I’m extremely sorry that I can’t bring myself up to text this all to you.
And I don’t care how pathetic and stupid this post makes me look.
I just needed to get this off my chest.
I’m happy that you found someone that truly makes you happy.
And that also makes me happy. For you.
Good luck to the both of you, and he better be treating you right.
When you wish you are with someone and you’re just stuck fantasizing. You’re sitting there wishing you are taken by this person but only to be in disappointment moments later because you know they’re taken or it’s just not going to happen. Ever.
But you continue to think about it anyway. It gives you that momentary happiness. For some reason it makes you all giddy inside. All fuzzy. You don’t care about the relapse that follows.
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
the important things.
It’s amazing how at one point in our lives we will be extremely close with someone and then later they will become a complete stranger. You will pass by them without a word. Without a single acknowledging look. This person, who once knew you so well, who once knew your fears, your desires, your dreams, your past, is now walking right past you, seeing right through you.
If you want to know the truth, I don’t think it’s genuinely possible to be in love with someone until you’ve had a conversation with them at 3am. You’ll find them most vulnerable at that time and their deepest thoughts will come to life. You are going to hear them yawn in between sentences, you are going to notice the way they blink and how it becomes a couple seconds longer each time, and you are going to connect with them on a level that you never knew existed. You can care for them deeply and even be convinced you’re in love with them but until then, everything is just an illusion.