there’s no sexy way to say chicken nugget

and there’s no attractive way to tell him you just ate an entire thing of raspberry sorbet

there’s nothing you can say to make him forget about how in tenth grade you drank tea before bed and ended up pissing the bed. tenth grade. let me reiterate for solidified emphasis; tenth grade.

there is no steamy way to tell him that your bed-ridden because your lady lumps and back hurt due to mother nature making her presence known.

you can’t sound feminine and petite and adorable when you tell him you don’t necessarily have celiac disease but when you eat gluten you end up breaking out in hives and sweating like you’ve just ran a marathon.

he won’t have sensual dreams about the fact that you often waste entire days watching “keeping up with the kardashians” and can unconsciously pack down family-sized bags of fritos.

and there isn’t a thing you can do to prove that you’re an excellent, intelligent debater when you always end the arguments with “ur mom.”

and there isn’t an inviting way to have an anxiety attack right in front of him about your humongous, often hidden, battle with eating disorders and how everything in your entire life has been focused around losing to this monster and how every single day and every single thought is floored by this textbook defined psychological disorder.

 

but there is something so handsome about him being there for you.

 

…and it’s funny because we were having a conversation earlier in the day where i asked him to give me his personal definition of “masculine” and what it meant to him and how he shows it. he hesitated and said that he didn’t want to do it over text. he defined it in the midst of my breakdown with his actions and understanding, alone. 

 

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say it to my face, dude. (enter your comment below, i love all forms of feedback)

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