Ever since JT performed “Until the end of time” at the Super Bowl I have been listening to it religiously. No exaggeration. I’ve probably listened to it 100x since then. It repeats roughly 4.5 times from the moment I leave my apartment until I get to the elevator at work.

IDK. Something about a man literally singing his heart out made my heart wet as fuck.

Yeah, I said that right. My heart got wet. Forget my vagina, I need to pursue honest feelings that are sustainable. The vagina is only temporarily satiated, my mind is constantly trying to figure out why shit can’t work, and in return it’s my poor heart that gets neglected.

My heart never gets a moment to feel or decide. It’s a conscious decision, that piece of anatomy is the slowest to recover. Mine is so tired of dealing with disappointment and heartache.

So I’ve been feeding my heart with corny ass love songs, slow jam mixes, and rom coms with impossible story lines because I deserve to fucking feel like all those things can be possible for me.

I guess I’m trying to convince myself that someday my love alone could be enough for one man, that monogamy is accomplishable, or maybe just that someone out there wants to fuck with me “forever.”

I can’t even type forever without quotes.

I day dream about regular things, ironically simple things—like going to a store and buying ingredients for that night’s dinner and meeting outside, cooking breakfast on a Sunday morning, or holding hands in a car with the driver. That’s the extent of my fantasies these days. That’s all they exist of. Sure, I want to do everything with the next man I love but mostly… I want to do nothing in particular at all. I’d rather experience a million lazy Sundays with someone than a lifetime of bougie highlights.

For the record the post linked above is my most favorite post. EVER. So I figure I’ll keep pumping myself with love songs and corny lyrics until someone shows up for a lazy Sunday.

*checks watch* *blows raspberry out of lips*