Author: GennaClaire

to ben

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

Don’t be alarmed. This is not a letter confessing my undying love for you. (Although, I have considered writing that letter many times before.)

This is merely a letter of gratitude, of simple thanks. I’m quite certain that you are the only reason I still believe in fairy tales. In perfect endings, in true love. And most importantly, in happily ever after.

Not because you or I have achieved such lofty pursuits either together or apart. But because I can’t help but think, in some alternate universe, you and I found each other at the right time. When both our hearts were ready. And no one else was in between.

And so lived love as it was always meant to be. Without clauses or footnotes or asterisks. Without epitaphs and swan songs.

And if love like that can happen in some alternate universe, then it must exist. And if it exists, then I will never stop believing in it. Even if it’s not meant for me.

So thank you, Ben, for giving me love to always believe in.

your hipbones don’t impress me

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

I don’t need perfect. I don’t need chiseled abs and protruding hip bones. I don’t need a rigid jaw and teeth so white they sparkle. I don’t need six feet tall or bright blue eyes or sun-kissed skin or tight biceps and a tighter ass.

I just need a good sense a humor. An honest, thoughtful opinion. A strong mind. A passionate soul. A curiosity. A smile that turns the corners of my lips. A laugh that warms and swarms and melts. A heart that beats its own brilliant rhythm. And cannot wait for me to sing along.

Please just give me someone who doesn’t give up. Someone who doesn’t turn back. Someone who believes. And trusts. And dreams.

You can have yours tall and dark and handsome. I’ll take mine courageous and clever.

And he and I will be just fine.

my bleed american summer

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

Certain songs take me back to places I don’t necessarily care to return. Dusty corners of memory I’ve boarded away on purpose. Shadows I’d like to pretend aren’t lurking inside my mind. Wounds that never quite healed.

It was Jimmy Eat World that wove its way into the soundtrack of my summer after graduating high school. When Bleed American washed over me like the Georgia heat. When I was stuck between a high school dreamer and a lost college soul.

I was serving coffee in the morning and ice cream at night in the middle of suburbia with A Praise Chorus and Sweetness on repeat every second in between. Working two jobs just to occupy my mind. So it wouldn’t slip up and find its way back to you.

Now when I hear any of those eleven tracks, I can’t help but go back to that endless summer. I remember that poor, sweet 18-year-old girl.

How she felt like she was finally going to move forward, but really she was just spinning in circles around you.

When I couldn’t sleep, I’d put earphones in so those words could keep me company in the darkness. If you still care at all, don’t go tell me now. If you love me at all, don’t call.

I’d let Your House and Cautioners and Hear You Me lull me into my dreams.

I played that CD as I packed up my things at the end of August. As I drove my little cherry red Mustang to Athens for the first time. Windows down. Volume up. As I made my great escape.

I said my goodbyes. This is my sundown. I’m gonna be so much more than this.

I never managed to escape you that summer. And when I hear these songs today, I sometimes wonder if I ever did.

the bravest girl i ever knew

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

I still dream about you. Three and a half years later and you relentlessly haunt my sleep.

I used to wake up in agony from those dreams. Feeling pathetic and defeated and lost. But no longer.

I’ve finally accepted the fact that you will never leave me. Those six years we spent together – holding hands and rubbing noses and discovering each other and ourselves – those six years shaped who I am. Those six years altered who I’ve become.

It’s because I let you so deep inside me that I am forever changed by you. My soul. My spirit. The way I think. The way I feel. The way I love.

My dreams of you do not mean I long for you still. They mean I loved you with all I had. They mean I gave you every drop of me. They mean I held nothing back.

Sixty-three and a half years from now, should I still wake up with thoughts of you, I’ll be proud. Proud of how honestly I loved. How eagerly. How fearlessly.

That girl who loved you for six years was the bravest girl I ever knew.