“I keep waiting to meet a man who has more balls than I do.”—
Salma Hayek (via) I said this last night, VERBATUM. Goddamnit, Salma - you beat me to it.
But seriously, I’ve got balls, guys. I’m a ballsy girl. Balls, balls, balls. Unfortunately, I can’t say the word “balls” out loud without cracking up because I’m still in 4th grade a little bit, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t like, cosmically epic. But the day I find a nice young really super-dreamy guy with balls bigger than mine but a heart just as big - is the day I fall in the L word. And not that show about lesbians.
“ it’s all relative. in fact, twenty something years from now, we’ll all be going over our cobrasnake coffee table books sitting around the fire in our cardigans saying “and see that girl getting vodka poured into her mouth by that long haired asian dj fellow? that’s your mother."
Dreamers dream, and we see, not black and white, but vivacious, living colors. We see potential, promise. We are secret keepers of hope, gingerly settling a forgotten faith in the slip between the heart and the faint of our breastbone.
We are skies without end, wild horses without reins. We are your sister, your brother, your neighbor. We are the bumbling man in the corner store, the forsaken beggar in the street, we are the woman on the mosque steps, her figure formless beneath her hijab. We are in regions of terror, in sprawling forests, in city brownstones, in unbroken fields, where grass stands above summer skinned knees. We are shapeshifters. We are here, and we are there.
We walk through the fire, the arson of unbelievers, scorching skin, but never our souls, and with dreams that are kindred to the wings of a phoenix bird, we rise out of ashes. We propel the human race forward.
And we go on, because the future is ours, and we are not afraid. We go on, because we believe in a better day.
“We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.