I almost feel that since we're so young I want to have my heart broken.
But at the same time I look at you and see all of the qualities of a husband.
It's this really weird messed up place between a like and love and I don't know where we are but I know it's somewhere because you remind me of hot tea with milk on a sailboat in Newport.
When I look at you I see us waking up in matching flannel pajamas on Christmas morning racing each other down the stairs as if were are still two little kids waiting to see what Santa Claus left.
When you look at me I see a love in your eyes that I’ve longed to see my whole life, but then the doubt sets in.
I think what if I'm not supposed to be with you? What if I shouldn’t desire something so stable while I'm so young because what if I miss out on an adventure or a fairytale or another chapter for my book?
A great chapter with lots of color and tears and excitement and a love like the love I’ve thought I should be feeling my whole life? A love with slamming doors and rejected phone calls, heavy shoulders and the familiar sting of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
With you I’m caught between comfort and sensibility and what love should feel like and the familiarly enticing taste of neglect. You tell me it should be an obvious choice because you love me and you want me and you need me?
I’ll tell you that he’s just passionate when the cruel words turn into bruisings.
I’ll tell you that it’s nothing. I’ll tell you that I mean it.
I’ll tell you that I’ll take the frustration, sleepless nights, headaches, ignored messages, and weeks-without-communication-so-that-he-can-clear-his-head-because-he-just-needs-some-space-right-now-and-I’ve-gone-and-messed-things-up-again-so-really-this-is-my-fault-anyway--over ever feeling numb. Maybe this love hurts, but at least I’m feeling something.
These are the things that go through my head when you tell me that you want me. One moment I'm inhaling your affection and the next I’m gasping for air, trying to get my space so I can breathe just as he did. I’m not used to the affection that you shower me with. Someone open the damn window.
