I have always associated the magic of stardust with one certain person that just didn't quite work out. I remember being nineteen, scribbling ferociously in my journal trying to get my thoughts to come out right. Scribbling about a boy that I thought with every fiber of my being was my soulmate.
"The chemistry is there. The timing is just off..." he would tell me.
We ended with kisses so familiar, it felt like I would be kissing those lips forever. And then the radio silence that followed chipped away at my heart like an ice picker's axe, bit by bit by bit. And still I wondered, "What is wrong with me? Why doesn't he want me?"
It has taken the perspective only experience can bring for me to realize the most important thing about human relationships: You shouldn't have to beg for table scraps of attention from the people that claim to love you. You shouldn't have to constantly beg for a little compromise instead of going their way or the highway. If someone loves you, they're going to show the fuck up for you—and you shouldn't expect any less of the people you give the darkest pieces of your heart to. The broken parts, your softness and all of your fears deserve to be taken care of too, not shoved in a corner and forgotten about.
I remember scribbling about the stardust that coursed through this boy's veins, as if it made him magical, and now I wish I could give my nineteen-year-old self a hug and tell her, "Hey, stop that. You have stardust inside of you too."
