The real woman will be criticized for its superficiality, laughter too shrill, the lightness with which problems are faced. Will be judged for the leggings and the short shirt, for immaturity in love, its being unpredictable and moody. You will call her “little girl” for exaggerated reactions, I manage insane, for the perennial desire to be in the bed curled up rather than in the kitchen. Life for its inconsistency, the confusion and its insecurities. You will label it as unsuitable, exaggerated. Yet the real woman is the one who breaks the expectations of others, as a price for his happiness.
I fell in love with you. Yes, I’m madly, inexplicably in love with you. You know, I wonder why, but then I look at you and I understand it, you are that someone I would like by my side and not because you are tremendously beautiful and charming, but because I like you, as a person. I would like to hate you for the simple fact that you feel nothing for me, but then you smile and I fall in love even more. With those green and smiling eyes, with that I know everything and with that certainty that only a few have. I would like to hug you, finally smell your smell and feel your hands caress my hair. Sometimes, I just wish I could look you in the eye and make you understand what I feel, because to tell you verbally I would never make it. I look at you from afar, with protective eyes, in silence, staring at your movements, your ways of doing which for me are simply perfect. I would like to take you by the hand and talk to you about my things and hear all your talk, which may seem nonsense, but which I somehow understand. I imagine a we that will never be there, a us that only I give importance to. I would like to forget you, hoping it will be easy for the simple fact that the two of us have not lived anything together, but I’m wrong, I try but it’s impossible for me. I am not enough for you, I know this, you would like the perfect girl, not one with a thousand problems and insecurities, with a moody and unstable character, with a life of regrets and disappointments, with one who knows she has lost from the start . But basically I have to admit that I hope so, I hope you accept me for who I am. But I have to stop thinking about you, it’s the only way to stop hurting myself. Because yes, I’m hurting myself in loving you. But know that as long as I love you, I will be here waiting for you with a mad desire to be by your side and to love you even more.
I love the sea, the sound of the waves, the beach. I hate almost, maybe, monosyllables. I give weight to the words. I cry for a movie, for the ending of a book, for people who are going away. I am angry enough, but a little word is enough to get me through, I can’t keep a nose at the people I care about. I always believe that the last attempt is the penultimate, and I believe that good things are not achieved if you do not fight. I’m paranoid, impulsive, I’m terribly jealous and I’m moody. I’m into complicated things, but I can’t last long. I don’t know how to say goodbye. I just know that I stay, stay if I believe in something.
You are complicated. Sometimes you get so paranoid that it’s almost impossible not to hate yourself. You don’t like yourself because you’re not perfect. And yes you are not perfect, but who is? You complain all the time about your defects, you are moody, insecure, a total nonsense. But you are also the most sensitive and sweet person. You hide behind layers of sarcasm, you pretend to be a bitch, but you are not … you get lost in a hug. You get attached easily and you would give your heart to those you love. You love so much, you love strong and never halfway. and you stay even when they distance you, they hurt you, even when they don’t deserve it, you stay until the end, even at the cost of losing yourself.

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