I want a Tuesday kind of love. The sort of thing that involves little dreaming and scheming; the sort of thing that comes paired with too-strong coffee and too-loud songbirds and the drone of the news at 6 a.m. or any time before the sky finds its identity, really. A Tuesday kind of love that isn’t indulgent, one that doesn’t stop the earth from spinning but maybe keeps us grounded in spite of all that uncontrollable movement.
I want to split the bill and pay the bills and not get lost in some unsustainable delusion where the rest of our lives become inconsequential. I want us to be human, I want to argue, I want to take too long in the shower. I want to hear about the horrific lines at the DMV, about a boss who doesn’t get it, about plans to pick up the laundry after work. I want stories of strangers on the bus, of a child who looked lost but turned out not to be, of chance encounters with high school classmates because these seemingly colorless instances are meaningful when filtered through the eyes of someone I care about. A Tuesday kind of love, breathing relevance into otherwise monotonous moments.
A Tuesday kind of love is this: commuting to work knowing that someone cares about what you’re going to have for lunch; understanding that you do not have to be your dynamic, charming, weekend self this time; this time you can butcher sentences and make bad jokes and trip over thin air and it won’t change anything. A Tuesday kind of love is when weekends and weekdays are one and the same, expanses of time where unpredictable, irreplaceable closeness exists, swells, bursts. Tuesday is directionless conversation about things that happened five hours or five years ago; it’s knowing where he keeps his receipts and when he has a doctor appointment; it’s ordering Chinese food or taking his parents out for dinner because they’re in town or forgetting to eat because you’re full of each other’s words and there’s just no room for anything else.
I don’t want to dream through our lives together, don’t want to sleep in, don’t want to put on my sunglasses and pretend that life’s a vacation. The fantasy is that I want to exist in reality; the fantasy is to be there for someone on a Sunday morning but also on a Tuesday night, when the haze and laze of the weekend has worn thin and seems far away as ever. I want a Tuesday kind of love.
Them:I don't think kids should be exposed to gay relationships.
Them:It's introducing children to sexuality! They're too young for that!
You:So when a prince and princess kiss in a Disney movie, are they introduced to sexuality? When the prince and the princess get married and have a child, is that introducing your child to sexuality?
Them:NO! But if they see a man and a man, or a woman and a woman together... they're going to start asking questions! Like how a man and a man can... you know, do anything together.
You:You think the only thing people think when they see a gay couple is "I wonder how they have sex"? Furthermore, you think a CHILD is going to even know what that means? When the prince and the princess kiss, does your 4 year old daughter ask, "mommy, how do people have intercourse"? No. She just sees two people in love. If you remember when you were a kid, you probably didn't think about sex every time you saw two people happy together.
Them:But it'll bring up all kinds of questions, it'll confuse my child!
You:Then be a fucking parent and explain it to your child. The only question that might be brought up is "mom, why don't you want gay people to be happy?". And when you don't have a good answer for that question, you can look your child in the eye and say "It's because I'm a bigot".
“I remember the first time you held my hand. I don’t know if it was because of the cold or the fact I loved you but fuck, I felt the world rush through my veins.”—11:49pm, sadness. // im-not-doing-okay (via perfect)
“We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.”—The Drums (via enlightenmint)