Comfort

I’m still wearing your sweatshirt.  You’ve only been gone a few hours and, already, I miss the serenity of your eyes.  There’s nothing mischievous (well, maybe a little) or dishonest about them.  You have been formed by your past and are unafraid to acknowledge its impact on your present. And what an amazing product you’ve become.    We spend most of our time laughing in public and in private. Although, strangely enough, both seem to be the same.  In an overcrowded grocery store you tickle me, hold my hand, and tease me just as you do when it’s just us.  You’re unafraid of the opinions held by those in this time warped town.  We are honest, simple, comfortable, and gracious.  We’ve already disagreed and it hasn’t ended the world. With you I’ve learned — no, remembered that my thoughts and words are just as important as yours.  Unfortunately I’d developed the habit of sidestepping myself to make room for others. You saw that.  You have settled into yourself.  You are enough of a human being that you don’t rely on anything from me to be complete.  I feel that.  There’s something to be said about a relationship with someone who wants nothing from me but time.  We have similar childhoods.  You’re not looking for a healer and I’m as allergic to healing you as a kid with a peanut allergy in a nut factory without their Epi-pen.

When you sat down next to me with a box of old pictures I could see both fondness and pain.  Your fingers walked me through your history.  Thank you for that.  Thank you for everything about you.  You’re not perfect.  You don’t try to be.  I like you just the way you are.

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