We continue in this circle and for the life of me I do not know where we are heading. The anxiety is getting to me, my insecurities are creeping back in and I am flooded with a mixture of doubts and hopes. Do those two things even mix? What is it that you want from me? Do you know where you want this to go?
I do not want to continue in this circle. I do not need to question what i feel for you and where I would like us to go. I wish I could stand on the highest mountain and scream at the top of my lungs that I want you, all of you.
I want to be your safe zone, supporting your dreams. I want you to come home after a long day happy to see me because I am needed for your internal peace. I want to be what makes you complete, your emotional companion and spiritual rock. I want a travel partner, your wanderlust inspires me and I want you to run away with me. I would follow you anywhere, I want you to be my home. I want you to know you can trust me in hard times, whether this be with illness or the aging of our parents.
I wish I could stand on the highest mountain and scream at the top of my lungs that I want you, all of you. I want to commit to you in front of our family and friends in my best dress. I want to be the person that keeps you warm at night. I want to be the mother of your children and your eternal partner. I want to dance with you in our kitchen and drown in the scent of your body while you hold me close.
I do not want to continue in this circle. I do not need to question what I feel for you and where I would like us to go. I wish I could stand on the highest mountain and scream at the top of my lungs that I want you, all of you.
Sometimes I struggle, sometimes everything seems to become too much and the darkness overshadows the beauty of life. To eveything comes an end, and so an end will come to my dark age. One day I will enjoy the sky again. I won’t walk through the world like It’s my godforsaken duty to hold everything up. I will smell the flowers, feel the ocean, breathe the air and dance in the rain. One day I will enjoy the sky.
I’ve always felt like i was broken early on and would never get fixed. Before you my life was an unanswerable question and I spend days and nights looking. The first time we met something inside of me just recognized you. We were connecting and you saw the good things in me, and you made me real. And down to my core I felt for the very first time what it is to trust someone with my truth, my ideas, ridiculous dreams and unrealistic goals.
I gave you my darkest secrets and you comforted me and said it was ok and in return you showed me yours. That scares me, feeling that connected to someone. I feel vulnerable around you and your eyes make me weak. I have so many walls up to keep people out and yet you managed to reach the inner me. I feel like im losing myself because all my days are spent in fear of what might happen to me because you hold my whole heart in your hands. And I don’t know if it can survive another dissolution or hit, but somehow thats ok.
You are home to me, when im with you im home. And I don’t want anyone taking that away from me. I’ve always felt like i was broken early on and would never get fixed.
Looking back at my teenage worries, I wish I could speak to my younger me. The one who wore her heart on her sleeve, so fragile looking to be loved. “ babygirl, it’s your future self, and I’ve done things greater than dating the quarterback, No I didn’t marry the love of your life , but i’ve realized some bigger dreams of yours. I’m still fighting for you, and we are still here.”
My kind of love is, standing in line at a gate to go see someone that changed their mind about our plans, doesn’t love me, and still get on that plane.
I was ready to give you my fully build up world, and instead you crumbled it. After all it took me to build up that foundation out of the shattered pieces of my childhood pain and hurt that I thought id overcome. And yet why do I feel like im right back in that pink dress crying the whole way home.
My kind of love, is having to fake a smile and keep it together while im broken on the inside because I can clearly tell im being lied to.
There was a time you made my heart warm, burning brighter than the sun. I felt understood, like part of you recognized yourself in me as if we were different fragments of the same light source. For a moment there I would have selfishly left the world dark just to give you the biggest star so I could show you how it is that you made me light up.
My kind of love is, letting you back into my life when you needed my support regardless of how much it pained me to see your name on my screen again.
I feel like a child in a pink dress the middle of a messy separation, caught up between both parents with unconditional love being my mother and unforgiving pain as my father.
Somehow I have this unexplainable conviction that with you I could survive a storm in the streets in my pink dress with just your hands around me. And yet I am frightened at how unpredictable as a growing hurricane you can actually be.
My kind of love is, having him make me question myself, thinking im flawed because of his inconsistency and still care with the purity of a child meeting their newborn sibling for the first time.
After all these years of learning to love myself, there I was thinking that I deserved this for opening up my heart again. Now I realize that from your perspective, like the Romeo song “ antes de inventarse el amor ya yo te estaba amando”. Because by your own admission you have never had someone offer you their undying affection, the appropriate declaration of infatuation and deep seated love.
When did we all get so fearful? I’m finally finding my voice in life, after spending so much time feeling my kind of love was not enough for my former better half. I was confirming my masters thesis extension when I saw the newspaper announcement with that name next to his. Yes, back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but he decided that I wasn’t the name he needed next to his. And so me and my pink dress did not board that plane.
My kind of love is, over-protecting my little brother with everything I have after barely reaching the age of three and losing my first love, my baby sister.
The honest to God question that I ask myself, is do I have it left in me yet again to protect myself while you figure out that I am enough? Because that turned out so well for me with my former better half ? Can I be here spending yet again unretrievable moments of my youth sonly based on a warm feeling in my chest and the conviction of my heart? Do I want a love that I have to convince someone im worthy of?
My kind of love, was learning to accept my new little sister after having to burry my first one wearing my once favorite pink dress.
I’ve done things greater than dating the cutest guy in school. Long ago I swore i’d marry my former better half someday, but I’ve accomplished some bigger dreams of mine.
I’d hug my teenage self in that pink dress and say “ Babygirl, you are the strongest person that I have ever known, and the only love you truly need, is the one that only we ourself can provide.”
I lock things away in the corner of my mind, but its not pushing them into a corner like a child refusing to cleanup their fresh laundry. No, i neatly compartmentalize. But not in the way that a mother would label her kitchen seasoning, or a cabinet in an accountants file drawer.
As i move into new stages of my life, just as a van arriving to a new house, once the boxes have been unloaded into the new place, where do you start to unpack? These are unlabeled boxes only sorted by the color of their exterior, purple for anger, green for happiness, blue for sadness, black for love as it has turned into this shameful box, this representation of a part of myself that I prefer to stow away, back into the van and have it driver far away from my interior.
Sometimes having no labels mean that you’ve got to open the same box several times to figure out what belongs to what room. If I were to tell you that at this age i still don’t have my interior sorted and figured out, would you believe me?
Every time I am caught of guard, letting love out, showing affections it scares me to death. Maybe because I’m too young, maybe it’s because it took me so long to get my love back after showering my former partner with it to the point where my box was the dark kind of red because i had nothing else to give and it still wasn’t enough. Maybe i got tired of hurting, having to pack and unpack every time when a persons heart didn’t prove to be my home. Maybe im scared of retrying, or maybe its the way that he made me feel when i was scared that causes the affection i seem to have for him despite all my hurt and insecurities.
Two things are certain when you are in the backseat of a reckless drivers vehicle, getting into this car was a terrible laps in judgment and there is no getting out of it when it’s early dark hours of the day in a quite rural area. I was on a verge of a panic attack in an unknown country when I reached out for your hand.
For a period of an hour give or take, as what felt like an eternity to my anxiety ridden soul, you made me feel safe. Safe not in the sense that this car ride was going to be great, or that we wouldn’t crash. I felt safe in knowing that you were there with me, and that between this dangerous driver and this dark road i felt comforted that if we did get hurt or died, we’d be there together. And it Occurred to me yesterday while listening to my new favorite song, isn’t that what life is? A dangerous speeding car in the darkest hours that we don’t have any idea when or how it would stop? And does much more matter than who is there to hold and comfort you for the ride?
Is it worth unpacking all these unlabeled boxes and showing the actual interior of my being with every detail?
Maybe i am tired of hurting, having to pack and unpack every time when a persons heart didn’t prove to be my home. Maybe im scared of retrying, or maybe its the way that he made me feel when i was scared that causes the affection i seem to have for him despite all my hurt and insecurities, Maybe he is my home.
Maybe the fact is that things changed, when you said you are afraid of unpacking your boxes too.
Sometimes I don’t know who i am anymore. I keep finding myself in this same circle of thoughts that makes me wonder about my own existence.
I don’t know if im choosing the right things, making the right moves, as to who or what this universe expects or who my subconscious desires me to be. There are certain things, that I enjoy on a day to day. Like listening to music on the metro, the heat of the sauna after crushing a workout at the gym.
But nothing compares to the sensation of loyalty and love when I wakeup to the arms of someone around me. Its the sense of security, and the smell of their skin on my pijamas, pillows and bedroom is the perfect type of intoxicating goodness. Juanes has an old song that quotes “ que mis ojos se despierten con la luz de tu mirada, yo a dios le pido”. And ive never read truer lyrics from a song that just hit me like a wave of weakness and vulnerability. Because that is exactly how I feel
Maybe it’s because I am an insomniac, that this means so much to me. Or a representation of how my childhood traumas lead me to need this sense of comfort in feeling safe and cared for when I close my eyes. But I used to wakeup, and just watch him sleep. The sound of him breathing calmed me down, the weight of his body kept me in place and I would run my hands through his hair until I drifted off in sleep.
If on judgement day the angels asked me the most euphoric part of my existence, it would be these scattered unnoticed seconds of sleepy ritual. Those small fractures in my constant state of defense and anxiety in between sleeping were the absolute happiest moments of me. I got to be vulnerable and yet felt safe with someone that knows the purest truth of my flawed personality, deep secrets, desires and still wanted me there. I don’t believe there is a greater moment than that, at least not in my existence. Absolute bliss.
Circumstances make me wonder about my existence. Clutching on to my big pillow in a bed with the darkness of just me, I question why this to be my safe place. In those memories that seem like a few lifetimes ago and yet I can feel the smell of his skin lingering on me. Absolute comfort, more of a spiritual experience than the physical touch, It made me feel complete.
Desire is a mysterious feeling, very tricky for me. I would like to know at what point exactly does something pass of being a simple “want” to that firing sensation inside the soul yearning for something so deeply that it becomes a desire? Once I have a desire i tend to spend countless time dreaming about it and how it would satisfy me. Its Hard not to obsess over something when every single bone, cell and micro protein seems to be needing it, as much as oxygen to survive.
Desire is a mysterious feeling, very tricky for me. When it comes to my romantic desires, to put it ladylike, I can name a few times where I felt self-control slipping away from me. Bare in mind that this side of me is only in the drivers seat while well intoxicated. But the times that this wave of passionate desires overtook me In a state of clear mind, I recall them perfectly.
The way my heart starts to race when I see him approaching me, when the wind brings his smell with him, and I find myself staring at his neck, wondering what it would be like to caress the side of his face down to his neck with my fingertips. Is this the point of desire?
At this point we are seated, and I try to focus on the topic of the conversation, while I’m drifting off at the sight of him drinking from a glass. It takes me to a zone where I’m wondering if he’d taste sweet like the soda if i kissed him. would it be inappropriate to bite his lower lip a bit, or pass my tongue playfully by his neck while I run my fingers up and down his chest? Is this the start of desire?
As his leg touches mine I am wondering if he’s ever had these ideas before, does he see me for the sexual being that I am. Because I am laughing at what he says but in my mind im wondering how he likes his foreplay. How fast can we get in a taxi? Is he shy about being handsy in public? Does he like rough kisses while getting undressed in the elevator? would it be ok if I pushed him onto my bed and crawl on top? Is he comfortable with me licking all the way down his privates? Or does he prefer to be in control? Is this desire?
We are sharing some snacks and talking about another topic, his work, family, the city or something of that sort. By this point im not that responsive, imagination has taken a hold of me as I’m sure this is now desire by the warmth i feel in my lady parts getting warmer and my moist panties. I want to know how his skin tastes, how his sweat feels on my body while Keeping up with the rhythm of his thrusting, holding on to his back with my nails. Pulling on his hair, moaning and whispering his name as I hold on to the sheets. Is he the type to take his time? May I leave bite marks in his skin? This is what pure desire feels like.
I take more than one sip from my drink as im trying to keep up again with what he is saying. Would he look at me different if he knew? knowing that I desire to share a shower afterwards, scrub his back with soap and kissing while shampooing his hair? Or that id like him to hold me afterwards until i fall asleep? Maybe its the desire to wakeup to his kisses on my forehead, make him breakfast, pack his lunch and doing it all over again the next day that leads to me controlling this desire.
I smile, drink again and ask about his day. Desire is a mysterious feeling, very tricky for me.