I have moments when I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’re here. I don’t understand why we’re here. I don’t understand why you answer when I call. Or put up with me when I’m hangry. Or aren’t offended or weirded out when I call things as I see them.
I have moments when I don’t know. I don’t know how thick the invisible string is that keeps us inexplicably bound. I don’t know why it hasn’t frayed or unraveled. I don’t know why it seems to have grown stronger over the years. I don’t know why you haven’t walked away and I don’t know why I can’t.
I have moments when I can’t explain. I can’t explain what it feels like in your presence. I can’t explain the relief I experience when I can just be me and you don’t judge or balk or make me feel guilty for taking care of myself. I can’t explain how good it feels to have the room to be fully me, whoever that is in the moment, when I’m with you.
I have moments when I can’t describe. I can’t describe the ways I heal from wounds you didn’t inflict when we spend time together or even just text. The bruises that fade and disappear. The doors I thought rusted shut for the rest of eternity that swing open. I can’t describe how beautiful and magical and peaceful it feels in my skin when you give me the space to be just me and you don’t meet me with annoyance or disgust or frustration, but instead with acceptance, care, and love.
I have moments when I can’t comprehend. I can’t comprehend how the more vulnerable I allow myself to be the closer you come. I can’t comprehend how we are able to flow in and out, the most deliciously overwhelming intensity in one moment and the silence and void that necessarily follows. I can’t comprehend why you want me, and all my weird quirkiness, in your life (but I’m glad you do).
I have moments when doubt, fear, and all my insecurities get the best of me.
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