If love were as green and easy as eating a scoop of ice cream, we’d all be in a glossy-eyed state of jaded bliss. Love takes work, faith, maturity, courage, and a lot of other branched out things.
I was actually worried about the weight thing. I think my friends were upset as I was about the weight thing. I was sitting there, thinking that I was going to have to risk my relationship to be healthy. I was mad with a stress headache, upset that I was going to lose my man. Confused that if he loved me as he said he did, then why would my losing weight be unattractive? I know he likes bigger women, but I don’t intend on being as big as I am now for the rest of my life. It’s already hard enough for me to find shoes that fit. Yay, cankles.
So, we talked.
At first, I didn’t even want to. He asked me about the text I sent, which collided with mushy feelings he wanted to express. So that got put on hold. What I didn’t like was that he kind of didn’t respond for half a day, but, whatever. Independence Day. He asked about it, and at first I just said let’s not, because I decided that I had to be selfish on that. My health determines whether or not I’m actually here to be loved. I decided that instead of asking, I was going to do. If the chips fell, and people couldn’t handle it, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
I told him how I felt. I pretty much said that instead of asking, I was going to do. I would hate to risk things, but my parts are sums of my existence. There’s more to me than parts. The love should be there. He’s telling me he’s worried I’m going to “get Nia Long super skinny”, and I’m squinting like….no. 145-150 is my goal range. And I’ll still be curvaceous with the perks of what he likes about me. But I don’t intend on being some kind of nutty gym rat who drinks smoothies from a bowl. What I want to do is incorporate better habits and lots of movement into my life. I want a natural, happy experience.
I don’t know what kind of experience he went through, but I don’t plan on losing my head or myself in a sea of vanity. I’m conceited and a little self-absorbed now, and people have a problem with that. I mean…I spent all my teen and tween years sitting in the corner all sad and moused up. I want to sing the body electric and celebrate the me yet to come, damn it. I am 31, and I’m seeing a lot of things in my life with a greater clarity than I thought I ever possibly could. I want to live as much of that as possible with my mate, and myself.
I think he understood, and hope he found assurance. I don’t know if he lost someone because of that, but the only think I can think of that would make me leave is if he cheated on me. That’s an automatic game over.
Then he goes deeper.
The idea of cohabitation attracts him. How he hated how the month was over before it got good, how I took care of his house…and him. He liked that feeling, and starts telling me what I can do to help with my part of the rent. It’s all music to my ears, and I find myself missing the noise of his open-mouthed snoring, and the way he looks when he’s deep in thought. I miss the itch of his facial hair against my face, and the warmth I feel when he takes me to one of his special places. I feel myself itching closer to the idea that life without him is not worth it. I can’t live without him.
Yes, he gets on my nerves sometimes. We confuse each other, we have long talks to find clarity….
But he’s teaching me about accountability and the razor sharpness of the world, while I would like to think I show him tenderness and the coolness. And I think with time and polishing, we could be great.
I knew I loved him long before he did, and accidentally said it. I felt love because he gave me concentrated hope and a different way to see things. He has given me the ability to find grounding on shaky terrain. Despite my wacko shortcomings, he has faith in me. He wants a life with me, and is willing to help me step up to get there.
Where has he been all my life?
It’s so hard to stay mad at him, because we talk things out. We figure things out. I write to get shit out, but for the most part we talk. (Sometimes bark and bite)
When the smoke cleared, I felt better. When he told me he wanted me there, so many things rushed through me. Warmth, happiness, ambition.
I want to pull my weight, of course, but to be in paradise with him and not have to go back to Paris (TN) or Chicago….I would be so happy. Starting a life with him would be absolutely amazing. I’ll take whatever job I can get to support the effort.
That’s a wacky scene change, I know. It really was, but the way he understood me as soon as I laid it all out sort of made the transition. As soon as we left that topic, he began expressing just how much he wanted a life with me. I know that was the answer to my question if I mean more to him than…what I am. I mean, I know he’s got a type. I also know that sometimes people use you and sort of target you.
When A was telling me he wanted me to live with him, and that he wouldn’t mind if I had a part-time job, I realized that yes…this man is nuts about me. It’s more than what he did for me when I came to visit–he wants me around permanently. He wants to make a little love nest with me, and not these now and then trips when we can see each other for a week or a month at a time.
When we moved on to that topic, he talked to me in such a way that let me know that I mean a lot to him. And even with crazy debt, he wants an “I” to be come “us”. I sat there, spinning, thanking the universe and myself for being patient. Sad, yes. Depressed sometimes, yes. But never truly giving up on love. And even if I lose it all tomorrow (PLEASE NO), I will have loved and been loved. I waited, I suffered, I felt like no one would or could ever love me…
Then he comes along.
Here’s love, snark, friendship, GOOD AND AMAZING SEXOLA HOLY CRAP, nerdship, Blerdship, good political talk….razor sharpness….but the maturity and reliability I’d been asking for and praying for all along.
It’s….odd sometimes, but it’s pretty damn great most of the time.