This is what I believe:
There will always be a pretty girl in a movie that’s waiting for the cute boy in a bookstore,
Or a coffee shop, or a bench in the park,
And he’ll walk up to her and neither of them will be uncomfortable
And they’ll banter like old friends,
And they’ll sleep together in a loft above Manhattan,
And in the morning he will make her breakfast
And when he promises to call, he won’t be lying.
But what that movie will not tell you is that life seldom goes that way.
When he says he will call, he probably won’t.
And waiting by the phone won’t change that either.
You have to stop wishing you could send him your most private thoughts
And you have to stop mixing blueberries into the pancake mix because
You know it’s his favorite, even though you hate it.
The more time you spend waiting and wanting,
The less time you have for the world,
Who already loves you by virtue of letting you exist inside of it’s arms.
The moon may feel ignored because the world doesn’t revolve around it,
But it still never fails to light the pavement every single night.
A boy will hold your hand and tell you that you’re pretty,
But the world will remind you that you are made of stardust and the ocean.
You’re a forest, thick canopies of pine trees and flowers sprouting in the grass.
You will grow back, no matter how badly you are devastated and destroyed.