You know that weird feeling when you finally get something you’ve been hoping for, like really wanting for a long time, and then once it’s in your hands, your heart just feels… slow? Not ungrateful, not unhappy. Just… tired?
That’s where I am right now.
I met this boy. His name is Louie (I love the name Louie, it's soft and rare, like a secret nickname you’d write in cursive with glitter pens all over your diary). He’s Christian and half South American. He listens to old rap, the kind that doesn’t feel old to me, even if it technically is. A$AP Rocky. Frank Ocean. Stuff that sounds like driving with the windows down, or staying up way too late in your room with headphones on, pretending you're in a movie.
He’s the same age as me. Fifteen. He doesn’t talk to me like I’m just a body. Not like the other guys, who act like girls are only interesting when they post mirror pics or say something spicy. Louie actually listens. Like really listens. We talk about music and movies and school. I told him I like sad songs more than happy ones and he said he does too, because they last longer.
Sometimes I catch myself smiling at my screen like I’m in a Disney Channel original movie. You know, the old ones with the sparkly fonts and low-res flip phones? And yet… I still feel this knot in my chest.
Because here’s the thing: I should be happy.
I have what I wanted, a boy who sees me, not just the idea of me. And still, my heart is tired. Not because of him, but because of everything. Life has been a lot lately. School is draining, home is loud, my brain is always buzzing. And I think… I think I’m afraid.
Afraid he’ll get tired of talking to me.
Afraid I’ll be too boring, too complicated, too quiet when I don’t know what to say. I’m scared that one day he’ll stop replying as fast, or that I’ll be the only one sending long messages while his replies shrink into one-liners and emojis.
I’m scared of how my parents look at me when they see I’m texting him. That weird stare that lasts a second too long, like they’re trying to read my mind. Like they remember being my age and are wondering if I’m going to fall too hard, too fast.
And maybe I already have.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe falling a little bit is part of growing up. Maybe it’s okay to be soft, even when you’re scared. Maybe tired hearts can still love fully.
The song he likes to send me the most is Love Is Only A Feeling by Joey Badass. The lyrics are meant for me, he says; "Look, I love her curves but what's more preferred is the way she articulates words. Can't help observe and stare when she in the mirror. Maskin' the massacre while she fixing her hair. I mean she so perfect in her own little world. We built the foundation, everything I want in a girl. And it's a matter of time until her last name mine. You got potential baby, just imagine us combined. I wanna see you shine like the gem that you are. Want you be so secure that they see from afar that you don't need another man. And you can stand on your own, just keep stacking your bread, and one day we gonna get gone. And get, away from here. You're the only reason I'd be, staying here. Wanna paint a picture, let's make it clear. The future so bright baby..."
We joke about how much I listen to Lana Del Rey. I don’t know what this is yet. I don’t know if it’ll last. But I do know that when I hear “Lost” by Frank Ocean, I think of our conversations. And when I look at the moon out my bedroom window, I kinda hope he’s looking at it too. Anyway, if you’re reading this… I hope you find someone who talks to you like your words matter. I hope you’re gentle with your tired heart. I hope you know you’re allowed to feel everything, even when it’s all at once.
xoxo
Lenna
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