I want someone I can pour all my love into. A vessel. I say I want someone to walk with me, but it’s a lie. I want someone who stumbles. I want to catch them. I know what I need. I know what’s good for me. I don’t want it.
Love me with everything you have and I will be your friend for life. I will never forsake you, never leave you. Your crazy won’t be bigger than my absolute devotion. Your faults will be a reason to yell and scream. They will never, ever be a reason to leave.
Love with shocking abandon, my perfect one, and you will never know what it is to hurt, to ache, to be misunderstood. Let us tie ourselves together, let the binds be unbreakable. Melt into me, accept all that is left of me, dream with me, live with me. Don’t hesitate to give to me, you will only know what it is to be loved
I never thought I’d read your words. That you would bother to write them at all is astonishing. I thought you erased me. I thought you could forget me just by leaving me. I didn’t know you loved me. I never paid attention, I didn’t want to believe that I was capable of letting you down even though I knew I had.
I’m too aware you might be reading this. I’m censoring myself. I’m still scared.
The prompt is perfection….ironic. For a little while I said you were my perfect and you said I was yours. Was it true? I meant it. Did you?
I wish I was still sitting on that little bench waiting for the rabid beasts to attack. I wish I was still next to you, wrapped up in your arms. What can be closer to perfection than me loving you, you loving me? Is there something available that I haven’t been shown? I can’t imagine being safer. I can’t imagine loving more. I can’t imagine it, so I don’t.
If you had wished for anything but me, I would have cursed all dandelions for all time. I have made your wish my mission. I never, ever want to make you cry. I never, ever want to let you down. Please, let it be okay this time.
I’m not scared of the world. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel the need to fight it. What exactly is there to be afraid of? The loot will be taken, the women will be raped, the bombs will be dropped and what…..pillage! fight! destroy!
What of it? History repeats.
I fell in love. I never do that. I’m not scared of anything. I want something. I want something and I admit it. I want blue eyes, I want strange caresses. I want to say I love you and I want to feel safe. I want to accept love. I want to believe in someone. I want it because it’s possible, I’ve felt it.
I want to tell you that there’s this guy who can paint heat and cold and emptiness. I want you to believe me when I say it. It’s true. I’ve seen it. I want you to look and I want you to see there’s a ground beneath the sky, the desert, the mountains, the sea. There’s a pulse in a painting, a heart that beats. I want you to know that the heart of the painter once loved me.
I am not afraid of anything. I’ve done it all. I’ve loved and I can do no more damage than that. Fight the world and lose. I’m finished. I’m in love though I languish.
We dream open doors closed against the tide of human indifference and we say to one another, “This is where I leave off” and we go where we have another task needing doing and I wonder about you while I work with unsteady hands. I whisper in case you are nearby and need assurance, “Yes I’m still here without you, I won’t stop being until you stop seeking” and I stop all my thinking and I just feel for one minute. You go back to your lurking in other spaces and I look at my comrade who is making funny faces like maybe he feels a pain and needs my help. I cannot help him and I know it’s useless to try, I shrug and I ask him, “Would you like some medicine” he says no and I know he’s fine. I want to see if all the lights are still on and I call you to see if you’ll give me a ride. We can drive up the nearest mountain and find a city we like the looks of and watch it shimmer in the distance and maybe you’ll lean over and kiss me and everything will be better than it was and I won’t have to keep pretending I’m not dying and you’ll remember that fast minute that passed like a flash of lightening where you loved me so much I could actually feel it and I knew that I was awake and all the doors weren’t closing after all.
How do they do it? Arms extended, they reach out for anyone who will accept their embrace. They show no restraint, they touch my shoulders, my arms, sometimes even my face. What do they expect from me? I don’t understand what they’re seeking. Strangers should never touch beyond a handshake. Mentally, I insist they keep their distance. I watch for them, I am prepared to dodge their overtures, I pretend I don’t see them and when they’re within a few feet, I turn my back.
A woman I barely know tells me her life story. She’s hurting and tears threaten to fall. I scream silently. I can’t help her, I don’t want her to cry. Why is she telling me these things? A man I have met once leans against my car. He looks at me as if he knows me and I realize he already feels some sort of ownership over me. I tell him to leave, I’m tired and I want to go home.
They are so open. They don’t take their time. They move too fast and they scare me. I want them to like me, I want to like them, but they want me to give them everything and I never bring anything with me.
They sparkle and charm, they smile and they rest their hands on each other’s forearms and knees. They are all so beautiful and friendly and good. I wither behind walls, hoping they won’t notice me. I keep my face turned, looking out the window, down at a book. Secretly, I watch them. I study them. I wish that some magic would scream through my brain and turn me into one of them.
I wish one would wrap their arms around me and rather than going rigid and brittle, I would soften and return their strange, easy embrace. Instead, I test them, sound them out, insist they stay outside my personal space until I have determined they are safe. They always reach out before I am ready, they catch me off guard and I offend them by hesitating, by stepping back. I want to apologize, I want to start over.
It’s always too late.
Is natural the same thing as normal? Is natural the same thing as right? I am an emotional masochist. I like people who hurt me. If I find someone who can break through the walls I’ve built, I’m in awe of them. They are rare and therefore, valuable. This is my natural self asking: Is it normal to want someone who can hurt me? Is it right that I would rather feel pain than nothing at all?
I am to blame for my pain. I choose to be hurt. I try to be normal, to hate people who hurt me. I try to be right and I try to fix them. The truth is, I like them broken. I like to cut myself on their sharp edges. It’s how I am built. It’s my natural state.
It’s sick to say, no one wants to know that there are people like me. People who are willing slaves. People who live for pain, just to feel the pleasure of being seen. I don’t exist without pain. I don’t exist without tragedy. I never have.
It’s natural to want to be loved. Is it normal that for me to feel loved, I have to know that my lover can hurt me? Is it normal, is it right that I feel powerful that almost no one can? Is it normal that I don’t really pay attention to most people, is it right that I function in apathy? Until I find someone who can destroy me. Only then do I want to surrender, to give myself up. I know it’s twisted, but is it normal? Is it right?
Will it always be this way?
How complicated is life really?
This week my little family is doing research on various topics. We each wrote a subject on a slip of paper, threw the slips in a hat and drew. On Sunday we will each give a small presentation that reflects our research. My topic is Medieval Torture Devices. I am not even slightly interested in this topic, but whoever chose to write this subject and throw it in the hat obviously is. So, I will approach this topic as if it were my life’s passion.
Life is not complicated at all. It’s simple. Love people. Honor God. Hope with your whole heart. Keep trying. Give generously. Expect nothing. Rejoice in everything.
I have struggled my whole life. I have been drawn to people who struggle. I wanted to share their burdens, I wanted to grow with them. I have been disappointed by them and I have let them down. I have over complicated life. Life is a matter of small decisions. It is choosing people who want to be in your life, it is choosing to let go of those who don’t. And those who want to be deserve everything you have to give. Those who want to struggle, who choose to complicate every interaction, who demand what they cannot give. Let them go.
I will focus my energy, and it is abundant, on those who only ask that I love them. Those whose struggles are not meant to be roadblocks, but are struggles toward growth and understanding. Struggles that become bearable when tempered with love.
I will be as fascinated by Medieval torture devices as I am by the person who chose the topic. Because life is about people. And it’s simple: I love my people.
This prompt couldn’t be more timely.
In the midst of destruction, there are only two options: accept defeat or move forward and overcome. I can’t wallow in misery anymore. What is gone is gone. A year ago I didn’t have any intention of getting involved with anyone. I was content to be alone. It’s time to remember what my plans were then, when I was happy, when I was unhurt.
I have all I need and then some. I don’t have to lie down in the rubble and regret what could have been. If it were meant to be. If there had been any truth in it, it would have been important to both of us. I wouldn’t have had to deal with all the difficulties alone. Hell, there would have been a lot fewer difficulties. So many problems were created from nothing. That’s not love. That’s a hurt person hurting another person, trying to find relief.
I want someone who doesn’t need to hurt me to alleviate their own pain. I want someone who feels protective of me and guards my heart as steadfastly as their own. I want someone I can relax around, someone I can trust. I want someone who knows who they are and who doesn’t hate who I am.
I want a real home. So, the foundation is laid. Allowing myself to want is huge. I have been afraid to even care. I’m tired of hurting. I don’t want to anymore.
I still haven’t opened that drawer. I can’t bear to look. I know I will have to throw all these things away, but I can’t touch them. I can’t see them. I can’t afford to remember. My resolve will weaken, I will want what I can’t have. I will want what isn’t real and I need reality more than I need to eat or to breathe.
I have peeled and pared the poison fruit until there is nothing left save one last bite and I can’t bring myself to take it from the drawer. I can’t resist it’s intoxicating effects and I know it. But it’s there, beating like a heart, calling to me, urging me to just taste one last time.
Instead, I empty every other drawer. Ruthless, I throw everything away without even examining their contents or considering their value. I want my surroundings to be as empty as me. I want nothing to interfere with my ability to move freely. I don’t want any clutter distracting me from my efforts to forget that I ever was me.
I want complexity, internal conflicts, disorganized emotions to be as foreign to me as certainties, simplicity and love were to him.
I do not have the faith required to move a mountain. The mountain will move when God wills it. Not when I tell it to go. I tell the mountain to stay, and I pretend the mountain stays because of my faith. I lie to myself all the time.
I will not bother to climb the mountain, to study the mountain or to miss the mountain when I, rather than it, moves away.