I feel as though I have a million blog drafts right now based on dating, how I suck at it, how I don't need a man right now—yet I can't get off the subject, what I want in the next guy and yadda yadda yadda…

Real talk tho...

I just want to "fall in like." Please.

I want to feel butterflies again. I want to get a stupid grin on my face from an amazing text message. I want to be hollered at—on my level. I want a guy to throw a J.Cole or Wale line at me, they share a million between them, I can show you (some other time). Or better yet, an obscure Drake line, cause that is my ultimate poison—it always has been.

I want to pick out an outfit that makes him look down, then up and down again. I want to laugh at jokes straight from the pit of my stomach. I want to make someone else laugh. I want to show off the fact that I'm basically a dude with a vagina, complete with MAC lipstick, Marc Jacobs "Dot'" perfume and TopShop heels, but ordering Laphroaig 18 on the rocks.

Can I mention the butterflies again?

The butterflies.

There is no drug in the world, over-the-counter or illegal, that can mimic the biological chemistry behind "butterflies." You never expect them either, they just show up one day, and FUCK—magically you are "in like." Its as if you put on sunglasses and the entire world is seen in a new filter, slightly more vibrant and that much brighter. Everything gets exciting again, a simple text, hello/goodbye hugs and even the absolute slightest brushes at random physical contact.

The hand on the small of the back?

Fuck. Don't get me started. Its electrifying when the butterflies are there.

So as much as I look forward to the day I fall in love again, for now… I just want to fall in like.

Problem is—I think I already have, but its an impossible situation to pursue and the cards are not in my favor. So I brush it off whenever the feeling hits, cause although I'm enjoying the momentary euphoria, I'm pretty sure I'm just making it all up in my head. I'm sweeping it all under a rug and killing anything that resembles a flying insect in my stomach, butterfly or not—in this particular instance, I can't be having those.