To the next man that will tell me he loves me,

Please, think about this endlessly before you come forward. Fall asleep asking yourself if you genuinely feel it or if what we have is temporary. Decide if I am someone you admire, someone you wish to grow with, someone you would work with and for.

Do not tell me you love me unless you’ve seen me first thing in the morning, bare face, messy hair, tired eyes.

Do not tell me you love me until you have held me at three in the morning, sobbing on the floor, struggling to catch my breath crippled by an anxiety attack.

Do not tell me you love me unless you can describe my face from memory, from the small freckles that line under my eyes to the way my forehead creases when I laugh.

Do not tell me you love me until you know my scent, you could find me blindfolded in a crowd.

Do not tell me you love me unless you fall asleep listening to my voice, and wake up wanting to see nothing more than my face.

Do not tell me you love me until I have become your best friend, the first person you want to go to with exciting, or sad news.

Do not tell me you love me unless reaching out and simply touching me provides you comfort.

I will tell you I love you when I see the moon and stars in your eyes.

I will tell you I love you only when you feel like home to me.

I will tell you I love you when I can feel your arms around me from miles away.

I will tell you I love you only when I mean it; and if I mean it, please,