I Actually Do Give A F*ck


I used to envy my friends who seemed to sweat boys out like they were just day old Vodka. They knew it wasn’t anything lasting. They got rid of it, those boys, prepped their bodies for something new. Nothing stayed. Not really. Permanence wasn’t part of their vocabulary.

See the thing is, I don’t know how to do that. I never have, not really. Even when it’s all I wanted.

Though, I would be amiss to not mention the boys I hurt; the ones I tried to love but just couldn’t bring myself to fully get there. At least, not all the way. I would try. But for the most part, I’ve cared a great deal for the people I’ve kissed.

Contrary to popular belief on the internet, I haven’t kissed that many people. And if I were still in high school, this would be something I’d be justifying or lying about. It always was weird to me, the way a number of people you slept with vs. people you kissed could be so different. Mine, usually, seemed to match up. I just found myself never wanting to kiss someone if I didn’t also foresee their penis in my vagina.

I think we’re all so busy playing this game of what’s cool and what’s acceptable, even when we graduate, that we forget about the individualism of it all. That what works for my best friend probably doesn’t work for me. There is no THIS IS WHAT WORKS for everyone. That would be foolish, wouldn’t it?

There are times I wish I could pretend I was the detached and effortlessly cool chick. That I don’t think about you often. I’m not worried about you texting back, or if you found my joke funny. Nope. I’m TOTALLY FINE.

But that’s not me. And pretending would be just another form of lying, right? So, I won’t. I’ll just let my gushiness flow and if it’s too much, well, fuck it. I was being honest. Right?

The truth of it is I like you. And I’m going to care. I’m going to ask how your day was, not as some power play, but because I genuinely care. And when you feel sad? I’m going to wrack my brain thinking of some stupid shit I could do to make you laugh. I’ll show up with balloons, flowers, or some trinket that sums up a weird inside joke between us.

You’ll never second guess the way I feel. It will be bursting in every touch, every gift, every time I fucking look at you.

I give so many fucks. I give them all to you. And if you don’t want them, fine. But I still give them. I can’t pretend I don’t. I’m old enough to stop playing a character. This is what I want. You are what I want. It’s not as scary to say. I give you all my fucks. I’m okay saying that.