She May Be Weary

(And young girls, they do get weary…)

This is for those of you who love those of us.

Serious girls.

Good grades. Bad tempers.

Siren smiles. Downcast eyes.

Messy hair. Wicked imaginations.

Resentful of your calm.  Annoyed by your rationality. But always unprepared for those rare moments in which your judgment is poor. Because you are, after all, human.

It’s hard for us to see that because we’re too busy taping you to the wall so that we may admire you from an emotionally safe distance.

Girls like us operate from a place of either yawning indifference or raw, unfiltered obsession. There is no easy middle ground. Only middle fingers.

We are allergic to intimacy of a certain kind and we project that like witchcraft.

And sometimes, even though you know better, you get sucked in.

And even though you really know better, you kinda dig the madness.

There are times you long for a fun, pretty girl, with a lighthearted way about her.

One who loves dogs and camping and hip-hop.

Maybe you two could go for milkshakes. Talk about normal things.

But instead we have beer and compare notes on the national debt. You have some really smart things to say about it.

Your eyes are steady on me and it reminds me of the time you asked about the scar on my upper lip. The one that none of the others ever seemed to notice. That’s how I knew I could be okay with loving you for a lifetime or more.

I mention that we should’ve waited to file our taxes because Mercury is in retrograde. You have no idea what the hell I’m talking about.

But you listen with integrity.

And your smile lights up the room.

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