my type of guy. a take on the definition of love.

if i never met you, i’d tell you

i am a girl who writes. who would talk to you and stop in the middle of a sentence

and fish out an old bill and furiously write down some words and look up

and continue the conversation with you as if nothing had just happened.


i’d tell you that i would never date you unless you had good comebacks and

loved words and synonyms and autonyms and even ‘hey whaddup dawg’ and could do cute

accents, and hated bieber (duh.)


if i never met you, i’d tell you

i am a girl who never shuts up. i could go on about sunlight, the way the leaves are

so green in summer, i could stand in an empty parking lot just watching a tree. and you would have to be the type of patient guy who wouldn’t think i was crazy, or who did, but stood with me anyway and asked me if i wanted to wait for a leaf to fall so we could press it in to the pages of a notebook to remember the night we ran around in a car park trying to catch leaves every time the wind blew.


i’d tell you that i would never date you unless you could turn me on with your conversations about Atlantis and mythical gods and your lost sneakers, that i would never date you unless you had at least a few really corny lame jokes that would make me laugh until my stomach hurt. i would never date you unless you could do something pretty cool, like rob a bank. i am kidding. but it’d be nice learning something new from you. i’d like to listen to you and fall in love with your words, your explanations. maybe you could teach me how to microwave bread without the bread crumbs sticking to the plate. or fix a lightbulb.


if i never met you, i’d tell you

i am a girl who hates shopping, who has never worn make-up in her life, doesn’t own a single pair of proper heels and a single labelled handbag (come to think of it, i have never bought a handbag myself). so if you are the gift kind, don’t bother with jewellery or any fancy stuff. just buy me a book of poems… and i’d probably scream your ears off. please don’t bother with modern chick novels, trust me- you can judge some books by their covers, for example: if they are glaringly hot crushy pink don’t buy them; same goes for any t-shirts you are planning to buy (what a coincidence, ha.).


i’d tell you that i would never date you unless you were okay with making mistakes. please forget my birthday and our anniversaries or crazy ‘the first time we…’ days. just realise you never have to walk on eggshells around ‘us’, i would never break up with you just because you forgot the first day we…wore matching shoes. or laughed at the same pitch. or breathed in at the same time. you get the idea. pleasee be human. wear socks that don’t match and make me laugh. watch your football matches and fall asleep on the couch so i could draw animals on your face with lipstick and wake you up with a bucket of ice cubes. i want us to make mistakes, to falter, to search for words, i don’t want perfect- i want the trying, the believing, the ideals. i want us to say stupid things to each other. i want honesty. i want you, as you are.


if i never met you, i’d tell you

that i am a sucker for love. the plato, shakespeare, bollywood drama type. the swoon in my arms, writing poetry, the moon-looks-like-your-eyes type of love. the long distance, or even the short distance if you were the ‘guy next door’. i am the type of girl who wants simple things from you- not the latest restaurant that opened up across town or the club with good music- i want the downtown café that plays old music and serves greasy food, the taking random buses and ending up in towns with names we cannot pronounce, i want days with you when we just talk about what we read in books or the places we’d like to travel if we were loaded and filthy rich. i want to see the world the way you do, i want to visit your hometown, i want to fall in love with your favourite places.


i’d tell you that i would never date you unless you were the type of guy who would run out with me and get drenched in the rain at midnight. or went crazy if we heard a song we knew while we were shopping for groceries at the supermarket so we’d sing at the top of our voices. i would never date you unless we could have conversations about everything and crazy arguments about rainbows and fluffy pillows. i wouldn’t date you unless you were at least a little curious about the workings of the universe and believed in things bigger than you.


i hope you like travelling and going to museums and art fairs, i hope you like paintings and musty bookstores and  mystical things. i hope you like poetry. i hope you like playing the glad game and finding silver linings and old songs. i hope you are vegetarian, or at least a seldom meat eater. i hope you are spiritual. i hope you love libraries and waking up in mornings and talking.



but in the end none of these things really matter. in the end, love isn’t about who we are. real love takes guts because it’s loving someone not for who they are, but who they want to be- all of them and their ambitions and dreams and ideals and hopes. love is noticing what is and what could be and forgetting the chasm in between. maybe that’s my definition of love- and maybe that’s dreamy- but that’s the only type of love that i want someday.



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