Loving you was like sky diving. Like Sunday walks and quiet evenings together. Like lead shoes on my feet jumping into the ocean.
I loved your passion. Your certainty. Your soft skin. Your bright mind. Your touch. Your wisdom.
I wanted to celebrate the beauty we shared – the extraordinary flavor of life that spiced our moments together. I wanted to surrender, explore, nurture, discover, hold, challenge, cradle, create.
I wanted to know you, inch by inch, over the span of decades. Like a mosaic, like a Monet, like a mystery worth dedicating a life to unfolding.
I wanted to see your face light with joy as often as possible. To walk beside you when the pain and grief of life was overpowering. I wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. And that it would be okay. And that you were just fine the way you are.
Better than fine.
I wanted to know you in the quiet moments. In the stillness of the deep night, between one breathe and the next. To learn to look at you and know your heart and mind. To be still and know that you are loved.
I wanted to show you my warty, messy, confused bits and know you weren’t afraid they would infect you in some way. I wanted to talk about the scary things, like self-hatred and insecurity, and be safe in your arms and lean back and feel your heartbeat and know that my shadows weren’t too dark for you to embrace me completely.
I wanted you to accept that my way of being is right for me. That gentle is not weak. That flexible is not uncertain. That open is not undefined.
I felt you in me like the beat of a drum. Like the sounds of a summer night. Like the ache of hope after years of not believing.
I was inspired. I was moved. I was committed. I was confident.
I was wrong.