beauty in the beast

THINGS I’D LIKE TO KNOW ABOUT YOU

Eventually.

I’m curious about people.

Not in the résumé, so-what-do-you-do? sort of way.

I mean the little things. The strange things. The things that probably won’t come up during the first twenty minutes of knowing someone—but somehow tell me everything.

I want to know what you order when nobody else is watching.

What song can change your mood in three seconds.

What completely useless subject you know far too much about.

What you were like at seventeen.

Whether that version of you would recognize the person you became.

I want to know where you’d disappear to if you had three days and nobody knew where you were.

What you believe happens when we dream.

Actually—do you believe dreams mean something?

Have you ever had one that felt more like a memory?

Do you believe there are things about this world we simply don’t understand yet? Synchronicities. Intuition. Déjà vu. That peculiar feeling that you’ve met someone before when you know perfectly well you haven’t.

What do you think consciousness is?

Yes, these are the sorts of things I casually wonder about.

You’ve been warned.

I want to know what makes you laugh when you absolutely shouldn’t.

What makes you feel safe.

What makes you feel wanted.

What part of yourself you wish people noticed more.

When you feel most like yourself—and when you feel furthest from him.

I want to know the last time you cried.

Maybe just whether you let yourself.

And I’ll tell you what pulls at my heartstrings.

People who are hurting. People who have spent so much of their lives being strong that no one thinks to ask if they’re okay. People who have gone a very long time without knowing what it feels like to be genuinely loved.

That gets me.

Maybe because beneath everything else—the flirting, the curiosity, the romance with teeth—I have an incredibly soft spot for the parts of people that haven’t always been handled gently.

I don’t want to fix them.

I just want them to know what tenderness feels like.

I want to know what you’ve changed your mind about.

What you’ve forgiven yourself for.

What you’re still working on.

What you miss that you don’t talk about very often.

And eventually, when it’s late and we’ve wandered well beyond polite conversation…

I want to know what scares you a little.

What you crave more of.

What kind of affection makes you melt despite your best efforts.

What makes you lose your composure.

What you think about when someone holds your gaze just a second too long.

And what’s something you’ve never told anyone?

You don’t actually have to tell me.

In fact, maybe I like knowing there’s still something that’s only yours.

I don’t want someone’s entire story on the first night.

I want chapters.

The polished parts and peculiar ones. Your confidence and your softness. The things you’re proud of and the things you’re still making peace with.

The beauty.

The beast.

And all those wonderfully complicated places in between.

Maybe that’s my favorite kind of intimacy—the slow discovery of another human being.

Not collecting facts about them.

Knowing them.

And letting yourself be known in return.

I’ll show you mine, too.

Eventually.

Curiosly yours,
Andrea xo