Sunday, January 06, 2013

Feelings and such.

I've been spinning words around in my head. Trying to make a cloth from this thread. But I keep losing words for images and touches and sounds.

I try not to think of myself as damaged goods. I know I'm not any worse off than anyone else that has walked this earth for 26 years. We don't make it through unscathed. We acquire damage and baggage and the like. So I try not to think of myself that way. But I can't.

See, for so long I had to learn to live inside myself. I became a pillar of strength. And if I cried I did it alone in my room. And if I needed anything I managed it myself or did without. Then I met this boy that seemed like he listened. It seemed like he cared. But that was all a farce. When I asked to be treated with respect he called me needy. Somewhere between living with my parents and trying to love that boy I learned that needing anything from anyone was a terrible idea and no one wanted to deal with a needy girl and I shut myself up.

But now

Now I've found this wonderful man. And when I cry, he holds me. And I try to apologize for crying and he tells me I shouldn't apologize. And somewhere in the last five months I've started to need this wonderful man.

I just need to hear his voice and know how he is feeling and how is day is going. I just need him to hug me and let the strength of his arms and the length of his embrace to show me how he cares. I just need him to cuddle up with me and share adventures with me and laugh at my antics. I need him to stick around when I poke fun at him and for him to tell me stories and let me in his life. And yes, I need him to hold me when I cry.

And he does all that. And so much more.

But I still struggle with trying to choke back the part of me that wants to tell him that I miss him though I saw him only two days ago. And if I'm honest I missed him that night when I came home and he wasn't there to talk to. And I had stupid tears of happiness coming out my stupid girly eyes talking on the phone with him tonight because it was such a relief to hear his voice in my ear. But I couldn't tell him that. I struggled for a way to phrase it so I didn't sound like a stupid, pathetic, needy girlfriend.

Because I keep expecting the horrified reaction that I could miss him that soon. Though I KNOW My John would never say that to me. So how can I keep preparing myself for a blow when I know one isn't coming? How do I say this in a way that makes sense? I learned to behave a certain way because of the way other people treated me and I get angry and frustrated with myself when my automatic reaction is fear because THEY hurt me but HE never has.

Being in love with John is better than I imagined love could be. I prepared myself for something tolerable or even never finding love at all. But this is something else. I will continue to endeavor to deserve him. And also to find my words.

Thursday, December 06, 2012

Falling in love with him was like this:

Falling in love with him was like walking into the ocean.
I knew where I was going the moment my feet touched the sand. I was drawn by the mysterious and beautiful thing I had never touched. Still, I walked with caution: Who knows what things lie beneath the churning water?
I enjoyed the give and caress of the sand, but I did not let that urge me faster. I recalled too many times the feeling of sand beneath my soles. Sometimes a sandbox at a playground. Sometimes a volleyball court. Sometimes only hills and mounds and valleys of it. Never an ocean yet.
But slowly the song and sway of the waters pulled me closer. My toes sunk into sand now saturated with water.
I reveled in the coolness I found there. So much better than the scorch of each new step.
Then suddenly a wash of water over my toes. I jumped back. Afraid of this thing coming for me. It receded.
The hot sun and coarse sand now seemed unbearable to me. The ocean called me. It reached for me.
I walked forward. The water now licking at my ankles in waves. Oh, the feeling. . .
My eyes closed in wonder at the moment. I was not yet in the ocean. I was in the middle place where water meets earth. I could turn back now and escape with my clothes still dry. My skin still free of the salt-stain.
I opened my eyes at an approaching sound. A great surge was coming for me.

I walked into it. I gave myself over to the power of its arms. And when it pulled back from the beach, I went with the ocean. No longer just myself, but all wrapped up in this thing so much greater than me.

Falling in love with him was like walking into the ocean.
I have never been so caught up. I have never been so free.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

I am a compressed rage. I am a fearsome thing.

I'm never going to stop being angry. Like a tree growing around a fence, I don't know how to let go.

Most times now I think I'm over it and then something will remind me. A small trigger. And then I'm furious again. I could scream and cry and rage. But I tamp it back down and close the lid again. Because screaming and crying and raging won't fix it. I am never going to stop being angry.

I am a compressed rage. I am a fearsome thing. I didn't let it break me, but instead let it push me forward harder and faster. I have sharp edges and sensitive spots. So I officially apologize if I get irrationally upset over something that seems trivial to you. Something about houses or babies or drugs or money or being cared for. I am never going to stop being angry.

Dear 16-year-old me:

Take a deep breath. Get comfortable. I've got some things to tell you. And some of the things are going to take longer to process than to read. Take your time here.

It's going to get better. This I promise you. And not just the kind of better where the bad things go away or get bearable or break you until a numbness settles over you like a cloak of apathy. No. You can't even imagine how much better things will get. You'll have moments where you just stop and bask for a moment in the wonder of feeling safe, happy, loved, and content. It's going to be wonderful.

But first, it's going to get worse. I won't give you specifics. I don't want fear and dread to ruin the moments in between. But it is going to get worse. This I also promise you. And there will be days you think you cannot survive. You will become a robot that goes through each day hoping for a car accident or deadly illness or something that will make the pain go away. You will shrink inside yourself as if huddling against a cruel wind. You will never be the same again. And again. And again.

But it will get better.

Let the promise of better days carry you through the ones you know you can't survive.

Let me give you some advice now:

Don't be afraid to question everything you believe. Either your beliefs will be tempered by the process or your mind and heart will be opened in beautiful ways. Always question.

Don't be afraid to make mistakes. Sometimes you have to make the wrong choice or love the wrong person to learn. You aren't going to ruin your life as long as you let the bad choices teach you and not break you. It's all going to be okay in the end, I know this. I hope you do too.

Anything else I would tell you could be found on the internet or through experience or they would be words that would never, never comfort you. How to make the perfect cupcakes and how to heal a broken heart and how to survive being the girl no one ever wants to date.

You are strong. You are beautiful. And in the next 10 years, you'll learn to believe it too. From someone that knows even your most embarrassing, horrible, and weak moments: I am so proud of you.

Monday, November 05, 2012

He is real.

But he is real.

He is unexpected reactions and opinions and actions.
That silence and burst of laughter at my antics.
He is arms around me when I am cold or sad or happy or lonely.
That silly man crawling up my stairs and singing horrible songs and dancing and getting excited like a toddler and getting distracted and randomly calling me beautiful.
And he, like, makes things better when I was sure I didn't need anyone to make things better.

And I was a tower of strength who resolutely didn't need anyone. An isolated tower of strength. And then he held me when I cried instead of calling me ridiculous or looking awkward or making me feel this [] small.

And, like, I didn't know I had a "kiss me" face until I met him and he knows exactly what that face looks like and sometimes he's silly and comes this [] close and doesn't kiss me and it makes me laugh.

Sometimes I forget for hours at a time that I'm supposed to be trying to be easy to get along with and fun to be around because I'm just comfortable with him.

And he is real.

He is the heavy sound of breathing and the rise and fall of his chest in the night.
That hand that fits so perfectly with mine and the way it feels when his those hands are in my hair and on my face. . .

He is a new best friend. I can tell him anything. I can ask him anything. Even when I don't really want to and my hands start to shake with the nervousness of it and my face starts twitching and there I am crying at the other end of the couch like someone just punched me, stuttering and snotting and he listens like I'm actually composed and articulate. He's like that.

He is laughter and engaging conversation and a partner in adventures and comfortable quiet moments and whispers in the dark.

Sometimes I worry about imaginary futures and stress about things 15 steps ahead of time and plan possible reactions to 75 situations and wall off parts of myself so I can survive a cataclysm.

But he is real.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Is love like this:

Is it the slowly approaching tide, inching over the beach with quiet but inevitable increments? Toes once pressed firmly in sun-warmed sand are suddenly in water. And then not. And then in the water. Is that like love?

Is it standing at the edge of a diving board, not knowing the temperature of the water, and just diving in? That  moment that is not even a moment where you are suspended in the air, too late for going back and unsure of what comes next? Is that like love?

Or maybe love isn't like water at all. Is it like when you get on an airplane when you know where you are going, provided nothing goes wrong, and over some varying period of time you go from being in one place to being in some other place and you never even stopped or slowed down. Is love like flying?

Is it like a small feeling that starts somewhere in the pit of your stomach, growing outward like a plant putting down roots and drinking in sunshine. And somehow the branches and leaves and stems of it stretch under your skin and into your fingertips and lips and tongue until you keep swallowing the feeling back and then one day you can't and love blooms from your lips. Is it like that?

Is it that wincing feeling when you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like if or when this person isn't in your life anymore. Judging the potential damage like the Richter scale. Fearing the answer you come up with a little bit. Is love like that?

Because I've felt a lot of things I called love. Things that were perversions or poor substitutions or only pieces of or watered down versions of love. And they were like eating too much pineapple and burning the inside of my mouth and still not feeling full. They were like a hot shower when only part of me is sunburned. They were like too much and not enough and things that made me fear and be wary of "love."

What is this "love"?

I'm a girl that reads the owners manual for everything. I look at a recipe I have memorized, just in case. I research things on the internet before I go to them in person. I read the book before the movie and I read the warnings and instructions on medications. I like to be informed about what happens next.

Except. . .

Relationships don't work like that. And part of the fun is the newness, the excitement, the uncertain, still-growing, uniqueness of it all. No one can tell me what comes next.

So I'll lean on the girl that got spontaneous tattoos. The girl that traveled across the ocean to Europe. The girl that did so many things she said she would never do. The girl that takes chances and breaks plans and occasionally tries to figure out how to do things without instructions.

Is it like when you're on a road trip to some place far away and you stop at all these interesting places along the way where you take pictures and laugh and stretch your legs and keep driving and listening to your favorite songs and making up road-trip games and maybe falling asleep and taking turns driving and reading your favorite book again and then you're there. The destination. Only everything is just starting and there is so much more to explore.

Is love like that?

Friday, October 19, 2012

The things he doesn't do:

Something has slowly been occurring to me over the last couple of months. This is boyfriend-related. Bear with me (or leave, I guess?).

At first I saw all the things he does, all the things he is. And I was so excited by that. I still am, of course. But over time, I've also learned that I appreciate the things he isn't, the things he doesn't do.

He doesn't send me cryptic text messages that leave me confused and anxious. When I tell him I'm upset or confused about something, he doesn't react in a way that makes me feel ignored, needy, or irrational. He doesn't ignore me for days on end. He doesn't push me into doing, saying, or feelings things I'm not ready for. He doesn't insist on seeing me every single day and insist that he needs to see me. He doesn't smother me or, alternatively, make me feel like I'm the only one in the relationship. And then when we do happen to see each other every day for awhile, he doesn't get on my nerves or wear me down. He doesn't say things designed to eat away at my self esteem and bring me down. And, so far, he hasn't morphed into some horrible stranger, no longer able to maintain the facade of a healthy, whole human being.

I know there are more things. There are moments where I've braced myself, expecting that moment to be the one where he does or says something wrong, something awful. And he doesn't.

And I just wanted to say that I appreciate that. I notice and I'm grateful.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Is this real life?!

I feel like I spent the first 20-something years of my life waiting. Waiting and trying to be okay.

A little bit like last year when we went on that 80 mile bike ride and it started storming on the way back.We biked to the nearest shelter and hid under the picnic shelter at a park along the way. The wind blew the rain in sideways and we got wet but at least I wasn't trying to bike with water all over my glasses. We waited out the rain but it kept coming. When it slowed we knew we had to move on. We couldn't stay there.

A little bit like hiding in my bedroom while my parents screamed and threw things. You can't sleep when they scream. You just wait and hope it will be over soon.

A little bit like when I wanted to have weight loss surgery and it was canceled and I thought my world was crashing down. Like when he moved away and I didn't know what to do with the new hole in my life. Like when I watched her vital signs drop and wondered if the drugs were really killing her this time. Like when we didn't have running water or electricity and Dad said he would pay the bill tomorrow and then tomorrow and then tomorrow. Like watching the black smoke curl around the edges of the blinds and fill the windows wondering if the flames or the fire trucks would win the race while I stood there completely alone in my pajamas with no one to hold my hand.

A little bit like that.

But I've spent the last three years or so finally experiencing the things I've been waiting for.

I don't know how to shake this feeling of disbelief. I don't know how to stop bracing myself for the blow.

I thought I got used to this feeling after the weight loss. The feeling of every day being better than it was before. And then again with moving out of from my parents. The feeling of being safe. The feeling of consistency.

And now there are two new things at the same time. What is this magic?!

I have my own apartment now. I keep expecting that some horrible unnamed terror about living alone will occur to me that I never anticipated before. Perhaps I'll realize that I can't handle living alone. Or the noises at night will scare me. Or something. But so far it is wonderful. The feeling of control. Of being comfortable. Of feeling at home.  I love it when I'm there by myself and no one else is with me. I love it when people come over and I don't have to worry about if that will inconvenience my roommate or if they make a mess or anything. It's all my space and my guests and my schedule. I love it so much.

And I'm dating someone now. I have a boyfriend. I'm a girlfriend. This is so freaking new. I've been on a lot of dates, but nothing long enough to call a relationship. I've had dates with people where I thought things like: I can't do this, I'm not sure about this, WTF?, etc. People that seem normal and then all of a sudden go strange on me. Guys that are at the very edge of what I can tolerate. Guys that treat me with varying degrees of respect. But John isn't like those guys. This is completely different. What is this?

It's so many kinds of refreshing, exciting, nice, and all those other positive words that I can't even say. But there is still a part of me that is waiting for the blow. Is he just super-better at hiding the crazy than the other guys? I've had friends date guys that seem wonderful until they start hitting. Guys that all of a sudden cheat or leave or change personalities. I know ladies do that too. I just mean that it takes a great deal of trust to open up your life and let someone in. To give up degrees of self-hood to become a couple.

Nika told me once that she thought my greatest problem in a relationship would be learning to give up some of my independence and learn how to let myself need someone. Learn how to rearrange my schedule and make compromises and such. I think she's right. Because as much as I loathe the idea of needing anyone for anything, I know that part of the satisfaction in a fulfilling relationship is being wanted and needed. And that has to go both ways.

I suppose I keep feeling like my relationship with John is one of those fake scratch-off lottery tickets people give you at Christmas. You won a million dollars! (It isn't real.) I can't flip it over and read the fine print on the back side. I have to just keep taking steps forward and learn to replace my natural caution with trust and bravery.

I can't tell you how many times I stood in line for roller coasters and then left line at the last moment, too afraid to ride. And then one day I did it. I rode all of the roller coasters at Kings Island. And I didn't like a lot of them. But the feeling of walking away without knowing is so much worse than the couple minutes I might spend on the ride. I'm pressing on.

Wednesday, September 05, 2012

So I met this guy . . .

I met this guy.

I'll back up.

I joined this group on facebook. Single Adult Nerdfighters. I wanted to date, and I thought maybe that group would help me find someone. You know. So I joined. And some of them were talking about being on okcupid and making nerdfighter references in their profiles. So I did that. I made a profile only a nerd-guy would respond to. And I got responses. Some creepy ones, yes. Some guys that clearly only looked at my age and picture, yes. Some that just weren't for me ever ever ever, yes. And then a couple of nerd guys that were the right balance of nerdy and not-too-strange. And John was one of them.

I asked him to meet me pretty quickly. I find it's really easy to form what seems like a connection or intimate relationship over the internet to find that it doesn't translate IRL. So we met, oh, I think probably three or four days after the first message. We met at a local park for disc golf in the morning. Those were all good signs for me. He suggested the place/activity. (I like that.) It was outside and active.(!!!!) He is a morning person. (I am a morning person!) And THEN, he texted me a picture of the park entrance. That let me know that 1.) he was early (I'm always early!) and 2.) he was thoughtful. So I started getting nervous. So so so nervous. Because everything I knew about him up until that point made me feel like he should be dating someone so much better than me.

This is going to sound cliche, and I know it. And I even know that saying "this is going to sound cliche" is in and of itself cliche, but here it is: I knew from the moment I saw him. Honestly. We spent the whole first date in a mutual endeavors to both figure out what on earth could possibly be wrong with each other and also trying not to sound too excited and scare each other off. We talked about everything. Everything everything. And I just liked him more with each new subject.

This guy.

So date two, right? It was five days later. It felt like forever. Too long. And I got nervous again. But he showed up early again and it felt all natural and exciting and safe talking to him again. That date lasted forever . We met at 11am and I think we parted ways at midnight? I invited him back to my house after the million things we did that day. Talking in the car. Arcade games. Laser maze. DDR! Indian food. Walking in the park. Driving around aimlessly. First kiss in the car in a parking lot. Laser tag. Bookstore browsing. Starbucks and card games. Fancy brownie at the fancy grocery story. My place for not-watching a movie. Mexican for dinner. My place for actually watching a movie before not-watching again. I liked him more.

I'm not going to list here all the things we've done for the last month, I just wanted to write the beginning. The beginning of what I get to call my first serious relationship. I wanted to write about my first boyfriend. At 26.

Obviously, I don't know where this is going. I don't know how it will turn out. But I'm super excited to find out. And no matter what end we reach, I'm so glad I met John. I was feeling like I would never meet anyone. My friends were calling me too picky and I thought I must be. I was trying to figure out which was worse: living alone for the rest of my life, or settling with someone who would settle for me. But now I don't think those are the only two options.

I'm not saying John is my person. I'm not saying we'll be together forever and live happily ever after and all that. It's just . . . he is so many things I've been too afraid to even look for in a person. And if all those things exist in John, than even if this doesn't work out for some reason, I won't believe anymore that my expectations are too high. You know?

He is intelligent and nerdy and unashamed of it. He does active things and eats healthy. He is outgoing and talks to others easily and openly. He is honest and communicates his thoughts, feelings, and concerns well. He is caring and considerate and thoughtful and patient. He is upbeat and positive most of the time with an even temperament that doesn't swing drastically from one end of the spectrum to the next. He easily gives words of affirmation. He is funny and silly and kind. He has flaws, of course, but they are the kind I can handle. So far.

And he likes me too. He like-likes me.

So I met this guy.

I don't know how to have a relationship or what comes next or how long it is this exciting. . .

But guys!

I met this guy. And I adore him. And he adores me.
I just wanted to tell you about it.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

White ink tattoo

3 years later. People were asking.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Nope, I'm not ready for this.

Sometimes I think I can't take the straight path to anything. I have to take all the side streets and dead-ends before I'm comfortable with my destination. Sometimes I go the complete opposite direction, taking the road that slowly, but surely, curves back around. And though it make take me longer to get there, I feel more confident when I finally do. I know the other options, I know what lies in the other direction.

So here's to doing the wrong thing, just to make sure it really is the wrong thing. And for the lessons learned along the way.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

I'll be happy.

I haven't written in so long. Sometimes I feel like a balloon being slowly inflated. Eventually, the pressure gets to be too much and I have to vent. Usually talking does it for me, but writing is such beautiful therapy. And I know most times I sound like a song on repeat. Verse. Chorus. Verse. Chorus. Bridge. Chorus. Refrain. But slowly the melody changes over time, even if the chords are the same.

I'm still working on weight loss. I lost 112lbs and then gained, oh, 50lbs back. I can't tell you how that feels. I'm going to try though. First, it feels wonderful every time I remember "before" and how different "now" is. I'm still proud of myself. I'm still active and comfortable in my body and strong. I learned so much about myself in that process. I learned to be daring and self confident and vivacious and bold. But it also feels like failure. I work in stops and starts. A week of trying and a week of not. Where went my momentum? Where did the speed go? Its like making minimum payments on a credit card. I'm never going to get there at this rate. And I was SURE I could do it, you know? I was sure I could do anything? And though I want to say I don't care what people think about me, I don't care if they see me as a failure, I DO care. Because I want the outside to match the inside. And it doesn't.

I'm at a crossroads. The lease is up in August and I'm trying to decide between getting my own apartment or BUYING A FREAKING HOUSE. This has got to be the most stressful thing I've ever had to decide. Because everything else has pros and cons that seem more definite. But this feels like a gamble. I'm supposed to make a 30 year commitment and hope that I picked the right house and that I won't lose my job or fall in love with someone far away or that something horrible won't break and then I can't fix it.

But I want stability and safety and permanence. I'm still struggling to recoup from that whole turbulent childhood thing. And somehow I keep expecting the other shoe to drop. Because it's been nearly two years since I've lived without electricity or running water. It's been two years since I took control of my life and got away from my drug-dependent parents. But two doesn't seem like so many out of 25. And part of me is still that little girl that remembers not having a home. That remembers not feeling safe or stable or okay. That can't understand yet that, though life gets hard and scary sometimes, it will never be that bad again.

I know my worries are very much the same as a lot of people. You worry about your weight or your body. You worry about money and relationships and the future. You love spending time with your friends and family and you alternately rejoice and feel terrified about life's next steps. Sometimes you feel lonely and apart and different. And sometimes you feel a sense of togetherness and belonging and contentment. You wonder if you'll ever find the right person or if the person you've found is the right one and if they'll leave you or hurt you or turn into some kind of stranger one morning and then you don't know if you ever knew them. Sometimes you think everyone else is crazy or stupid or strange. And then later you realize you are the one that is crazy and stupid and strange. You wonder if you're good enough. You KNOW you are good enough, dammit. You are TOO good. You can't understand what the hell other people are thinking but then some moments you know that, behind all the little details, they are just like you. I am just like you. We are the same. But then you get distracted and forget that part.

So again I'll say that I'll try not to get too distracted by the things that worry me. I know I could list them all here and tell you how they burden me. But these things are small, really, compared to the beautiful day outside. Compared to my home and my steady job and my loving friends and family. Compared to the joy I find in other people and in myself. If everything were easy, I think I would take it for granted. So I'll work out and count my calories and budget my money. I'll occasionally splurge and then feel guilty. I'll laugh and cry and sing and be silent. I'll hope for romantic love and count on the love of my friends. I'll live life fully, charging through it with gusto on most days and only occasionally treating it like a cold, cold swimming pool. I'll be happy.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

There are always things I can only explain in writing:

Lately I find I've been unreasonably stressed. I worry about money and my future and my (not-shrinking-fast-enough) debt. I worry about my job and health insurance and apartment hunting. I worry and stress over (lack-of) weight loss and wonder if I will ever, ever, ever find my person. I worry and stress and just cry. And when I pull apart all the threads of this stress, each thing isn't so important. Isn't so overwhelming. But it isn't each thing that bothers me, it is this horrible overwhelming feeling that my life isn't going anywhere. That I've reached some horrible stagnant place. A plateau. An impasse. I hate that.

 I told myself I was just focusing on the wrongs things. I believe happiness is a choice. We choose what we think about and spend our energy on. We choose HOW we think about things. I could focus on all the things that worry me, or I could think about the things going right. The good things. And I could choose to be positive about those worries, or negative. But I couldn't do it.

 I've been reading books I love but still feeling like I couldn't breathe properly, like the weight of my worries was all on my chest. I've been going out on my bicycle in the sunshine, listening to music that I love and feeling strong and healthy but still feeling so small. Like I was tiptoeing around the edges of myself, trying not to fall into that turbulent core. Avoiding the waves.

 Where went my calm center? What happened to the unassailable belief that everything will be fine? That even the bad is working towards a good?

 I don't know.
But I'm taking back control.

 Because there are things I can make better and there are things I cannot. But I'm not powerless or at an impasse. Whether or not I realize it consciously, I'm choosing these things. And today I'm going to stop choosing them.

 Instead of focusing on the man that yelled at me in the store I'll think about the nice one that talked to me about international travel for several minutes the other day.
Instead of getting angry at myself for my weight, I'll remember how far I've come. How healthy I am. How strong and beautiful I already am.
Instead of thinking about the debt I currently have, I'll remember that car payments and school loans are normal things that normal people have. And remember that my credit card is almost there. Almost almost almost.
Instead of worrying about the possibility that some horrible something will happen that I won't be able to pay for, I'll start saving more money and spending less. Which will make me feel better, going on a trip or having money in my savings account?

 And instead of worrying about if I'll ever find my person, I'll remember that I am happy all by myself. And that loneliness and insecurity is as visible to people as the clothes you wear. And that I know my own worth. I know myself and I love who I am. And eventually I'll find someone who feels the same way. Someone I love and respect as well. Or I won't. But I'll be happy either way.

Monday, March 26, 2012

My not-dancing feet:

This dance of
too much
not enough
and just right
keeps me stumbling.
Perhaps I was born with feet made for moving forward
and not for dancing.
with arms shaped for making, building, holding together
and not for swinging, twirling embraces.
my lips more suited for laughing and smiling
than perhaps kisses and knowing grins.

But my heart-
my heart wants to do all of those things
this heart that is always
too much
not enough
and never
just right.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

The value of her love.

He didn't know the value of her love, she gave it to him freely.
She gave him a thousand little things he never noticed.
What now?
When her hands are empty and still he doesn't see her.
All the almost-insignificant things she can't list for him,
piled up now and disregarded like extra napkins and used plastic forks.

When she took his hand, it was the first hand she ventured to take
and when she asked for his kiss
it was the first kiss she ever asked for.
Perhaps time has little value,
but she waited for him to ask for her.
Left days open should he want to see her.
She saved up her pretty words and smiles and little touches.

He didn't know the value of her love.
Didn't know the cost of loving someone for her
when she knows all too well how much they can hurt you when you love them
but she loved him anyway.

He didn't see the beauty in her.
She worked so hard to polish away the rough edges
to be healthy and whole.
She learned how to love herself
so she would believe someone else could do the same.
But he didn't see that. Didn't see her.

He didn't know the value of her love.
But she loved him anyway.
And paid for it in full measure.
And loved him anyway.