I fall in love—a lot.
Rarely do I fall out.
Smile at me for just a second, and I’ll save the memory in my box of chocolates to savor later.
It doesn’t matter who it is. It could be a mountain man with a nice smile or a woman carrying some books that looks like Miss Honey from “Matilda.”
It’s not always a romantic kind of falling in love.
It’s usually that kind of love a kindergartner has for their first teacher—the flavor of love that has children wanting to put an apple on their desk.
I fall in love with baristas.
I fall in love with mothers of friends.
I fall in love with therapists.
Just smile at me once and I’ll fall in love with you.
I’ve been called naïve often in my life. It’s one of those words that hits me so hard in the stomach that it knocks the wind out of me.
It’s the one word that will have me find a bathroom so I can sit in a stall and cry.
It means innocence and lack of wisdom.
I understand why some may call me this.
I’m the person who smiles at random strangers and lets a homeless man fall asleep on her shoulder on the subway train.
I’m the person who is frequently stuck in uncomfortable, and, at times, dangerous situations in which I have no way out.
It makes sense why I am called naïve.
Everyone is my friend—and I mean it when I say everyone.
I don’t really understand them if I’m being honest.
I often find myself feeling different for loving this hard.
Most are fine in the world as they are.
They have their families and they walk around okay alone.
They were loved unconditionally as children, and as adults, they carry this love with them without giving it much thought.
I, on the other hand, am on a constant search for it.
I will take all smiles—no matter their true significance—to mean you’re kind and have my best interest at heart.
I take these smiles as you love me, and then feel confused when this isn’t the case.
I know why I love this hard.
Those with similar childhoods to mine know why too.
We are aware that something just isn’t quite right, yet we still keep searching for this love.
I’ve been told I have a fear of abandonment—like this desire for love is something to pathologize.
I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s not healthy.
Maybe it’s something to work on.
I’m not something to pathologize though.
I’m just a girl who falls in love—a lot.
I’m just a girl who wants you to take her home and make her hot cocoa.
I know I’m 28, but there’s this little girl who is almost always blended with my adult self.
She captures hearts easily.
People are drawn to her until they realize they can’t take her home and keep her.
I’m just a girl who wants to be loved.
I collect smiles and save them in my box of chocolates to savor later.
I am just waiting to grow my collection.
Smile at me for a moment—and you will see.