I want to write but I don’t know what to write about, I want to write but I don’t know what to write about, I want to write but I don’t know what– but I want to write about you.
I want to write about what it feels like to look at your eyes as they’re opening for the first time each morning. With each blink watching your pupils adjust, watching the browns and hazels of your eyes effervesce. I love the little bits of fairy dust that the sand man leaves behind on your eyelashes. I want to write about how you make my heart expand when you call me your “lover”. want to write about how lucky I am to experience this level of affection with you.
I want to write about what it was like before you.
I was constantly filling up on resentment– waiting to be poured out. I was a loaded automatic weapon with the safety off, all I needed was a little persuasion. I was so angry.
Before I met you I would dump my heart, my trust, my compassion, all that I could possibly give to anyone who was willing to hold it. It didn’t matter if they loved that love, or kept it safe. All I knew was consistency.
My whole life has been a montage of me trying to the most for everyone around me. Trying to be the best nurse to a cancer patient, trying to be the best therapist for an alcoholic, trying to be the best replica of my parents for their parents. Trying not to smile too much but not letting them wonder if I know that I’m not as “strong” as everyone tells me I am. It’s always been a balancing act between not talking too fast and being monotone, not being troubled and not acting too privileged. Trying too hard to be anyone but myself.
And there’s you. And you’ve always got a face thats ready to see me, always ready to see a version of myself that I’m not proud of. You’ve got these hands that know how to pull chords out of my body and make them sound like music.
I can’t thank you enough for making me feel like enough.
I know I can be hard to deal with it, I know I could love myself more and I know that I don’t have to get so frustrated every time I mix up directions. What I know most of all is that you handle me beautifully, and you make me feel like less of a moron. I hope that you don’t get tired of how early I wake up every day, I hope I get to watch you grow as a person and as a lover and as a musician. I hope I get to call you mine for as long as I know how to. I hope the wells of affection in our hearts never run dry and we can always make time for loving and for remembering what it felt like to be able to fall in love in the first place.
you’ll never be loved how i love you – L