I’ve found that growing up means being honest. About what I want. What I need. What I feel. Who I am.
Marry me. Let’s spend our nights eating cereal on the floor when there is a perfectly fine table behind us.
Marry me. We can go to the movie theatre and sit in the very back row just to make out like kids falling in love for the first time.
Marry me. We’ll paint the rooms of our house and get more paint on us than on the walls.
Marry me. We can hold hands and go to parties that we end up ditching to drink wine out of the bottle in the bathtub together.
Marry me. Slow dance with me in our bedroom with an unmade bed and candles on the nightstand.
If you can just stop loving her then you never really loved her at all. Love doesn’t work that way. If you ever truly love someone, then it never goes away. It can become something else. There are all different sorts of love. It can even become hate—a thin line and all that—and, really, hate is just another kind of caring.