Next Steps
He’s holding my hand and I’m tracing my thumb over the back of his fingers. I can feel the muscles, and admire the way his hands look. I imagine them holding my face, I imagine them gliding a pen across paper, I imagine the way they caress. I could spend hours running my hands over him the way I do with a new car, exploring and memorizing, making patterns in the freckles on his shoulders.
It’s been three months. We’re sitting to dinner and I’m lost in his gaze. “How has it only been three months?” We’ve done a lot. We’ve experienced a lot. Concerts, camping, parties, lazy Sundays... none seems to feel exhausting, but added up it’s a lot. I’m looking at him now, remembering all we’ve done in a short time. All we still plan to do before the year is out.
He took that chance on me. I crashed through the ceiling of his life and stuck the superhero landing, guns blazing and all ass-kicking and demanded his attention. No one would have blamed him for turning it down. No one would have faulted him for taking one glimpse at all that I am and saying “No thank you.” I am a lot. I feel a lot, I say a lot, I love a lot, and I am a lot.
But he looked, and then he went with it. He was so much more brave than he gives himself credit for. I’m aware being with me isn’t easy. “How can you be with me?” he asks. How could I look across the space between us in that first moment and deny that I was struck by a Cupid’s arrow? How do I put into words the feeling I get when he’s vulnerable in my arms, when I love him not for what he can do or give me or make of himself for me? That I love him as he is, exactly as he is, in this moment?
He apologizes for not displaying his emotions as I do, or perhaps even that they aren’t as strong as mine. I have never expected the world to treat me as I treat it. I’ve stayed years with men who took and took and took and gave bare minimum, and I never counted the cost. I can only be me, I can only do as I feel I need to, with the whole-hearted belief that some day, when it’s right, I can be loved for that without needing to be changed.
I don’t need perfection, or exact reciprocity. If I’m on some higher level then it will eventually burn out and fade as all one-sided things must do. If it is merely a difference in communication styles, then I will learn how to speak as they do. If we’re close enough, then what more could I ask? It is only when I’m lead to believe deep feelings exist only to be doused in the frigid waters of reality when it’s clear by both actions and words that they were leading me on that I grow bitter and cold and cruel.
I am quicker these days to sort out who is genuine and who is not. I am faster to break my own heart to end that than to invite the bruises to my heart. My love is unconditional, my temper and my tolerance are not.
He’s looking at me over dinner, asking if I’m excited for the upcoming wedding. Another great adventure for us on the horizon. I smile, I can feel it reaching deep inside me. Yes, my excitement buzzes for all of it. For witnessing a happy union, for music and champagne and getting chosen to go. I picture in my head how it may go, what I plan to wear and how it might feel to dance in a darkened room. For being there with him and with her, with them.
***
I’ve opened things further, making more public the true nature of my marriage and relationships. At first it was just so I could stop trying to remember who knows what. But now it is to remind those tied to us that they are not a secret. They are not hidden away and covered as shameful. My pride in them, in us, and in myself is the only shield I bear, and I know my own strength.
These are my next steps. These are my truths. I am me, and I love unconditionally, and I am happy.
It’s been three months. We’re sitting to dinner and I’m lost in his gaze. “How has it only been three months?” We’ve done a lot. We’ve experienced a lot. Concerts, camping, parties, lazy Sundays... none seems to feel exhausting, but added up it’s a lot. I’m looking at him now, remembering all we’ve done in a short time. All we still plan to do before the year is out.
He took that chance on me. I crashed through the ceiling of his life and stuck the superhero landing, guns blazing and all ass-kicking and demanded his attention. No one would have blamed him for turning it down. No one would have faulted him for taking one glimpse at all that I am and saying “No thank you.” I am a lot. I feel a lot, I say a lot, I love a lot, and I am a lot.
But he looked, and then he went with it. He was so much more brave than he gives himself credit for. I’m aware being with me isn’t easy. “How can you be with me?” he asks. How could I look across the space between us in that first moment and deny that I was struck by a Cupid’s arrow? How do I put into words the feeling I get when he’s vulnerable in my arms, when I love him not for what he can do or give me or make of himself for me? That I love him as he is, exactly as he is, in this moment?
He apologizes for not displaying his emotions as I do, or perhaps even that they aren’t as strong as mine. I have never expected the world to treat me as I treat it. I’ve stayed years with men who took and took and took and gave bare minimum, and I never counted the cost. I can only be me, I can only do as I feel I need to, with the whole-hearted belief that some day, when it’s right, I can be loved for that without needing to be changed.
I don’t need perfection, or exact reciprocity. If I’m on some higher level then it will eventually burn out and fade as all one-sided things must do. If it is merely a difference in communication styles, then I will learn how to speak as they do. If we’re close enough, then what more could I ask? It is only when I’m lead to believe deep feelings exist only to be doused in the frigid waters of reality when it’s clear by both actions and words that they were leading me on that I grow bitter and cold and cruel.
I am quicker these days to sort out who is genuine and who is not. I am faster to break my own heart to end that than to invite the bruises to my heart. My love is unconditional, my temper and my tolerance are not.
He’s looking at me over dinner, asking if I’m excited for the upcoming wedding. Another great adventure for us on the horizon. I smile, I can feel it reaching deep inside me. Yes, my excitement buzzes for all of it. For witnessing a happy union, for music and champagne and getting chosen to go. I picture in my head how it may go, what I plan to wear and how it might feel to dance in a darkened room. For being there with him and with her, with them.
***
I’ve opened things further, making more public the true nature of my marriage and relationships. At first it was just so I could stop trying to remember who knows what. But now it is to remind those tied to us that they are not a secret. They are not hidden away and covered as shameful. My pride in them, in us, and in myself is the only shield I bear, and I know my own strength.
These are my next steps. These are my truths. I am me, and I love unconditionally, and I am happy.
Comments
Post a Comment