love

Body.

In what ways can I pull
And stretch
Or shrink
My body so it feels like me?
What does it feel like
To look
And touch
And breathe something that’s you?
I keep thinking that some day
I’ll look in the mirror
And smile
And they’ll smile back
A seeing smile
A connected smile
Between what’s in the head
And the heart
And the flesh
Not this tentative, unsure curl of the lips
An up curl, or a down? Or both?
Which category is mine
Ours
Yours
Is there such a thing that holds me?

Advertisement

Streaks.

What are those? he asked, tracing the purple streaks on my hips.

Stretch marks, I said, a blush filling my cheeks.

He sensed my shame and he kissed those streaks and said he loved them, just like he loved the rest of my body.

It wasn’t contrived like you’d expect. It was exactly what I needed; what I thought I’d asked for from him but never received.

I was grateful he’d never answered Polo when I’d called Marco in the past. He instead gave what he wanted to give in that moment.

That made it all the more real and precious.

Dating twice.

I had a chat with a friend who is dating her partner for the second time round. I wanted to know why people choose to date someone more than once. What makes it different the second time and how do you make it work when it hasn’t before? Turns out they’re doing something right: they’ve recently gotten engaged ❤

 

 

References discussed:

Enneagram

Secret Lover

I am no-one’s secret, lover

I am a prize, just as you are

As I hope I showed you

I don’t only exist in the dark

when you need an ear, a cuddle, or to come.

I’ve needs and thoughts and I hoped you cared

enough to see them in the light, too

I just wanted you to hold my hand in the street

where people would see us

because I am no-one’s secret lover

 

Pieces

I am the in between one

a bridge between two others

I will gather all your pieces

when you thought them lost

painstakingly discover them

through long conversations

filled with hair stroking

kissed fingertips, tears

and all of my labour

and once I find all the parts

I’ll glue you back together

Make you see how perfect you are

how perfect you were already

perfect enough for you to thank me

and to float on to the next

and for me, tomorrow

there’ll be another almost-whole

to discover, collect and embrace

but what about my pieces?

Precious.

He’s a tall man. A full two heads closer to the sky than she is. She turns her head when they hug or else she’d suffocate on his sternum. He makes her belly ache with laughter and with butterflies. Often at the same time.

When he holds her she feels like a tiny gift. He tells her she’s small when he holds her feet in his hands or when she wraps her arm around his waist. It’s endearing in a way she’s not felt for a long time.

What a precious thing – to be precious – she thinks. What a skill to make someone else feel that way.

Can only small people be made to feel precious? Or does she have a chance to affect him in the same way? There’s all the time in the world to try.

Trying. 

With tears in his eyes, he angrily told me I didn’t understand him. I could tell he was pushing for me to challenge; to prove him wrong. I knew he wanted desperately to be heard, to not feel alone. I wanted so badly to be the one to give him that.

I wondered, then, as I looked at the furrowed brow that had always been so soft and loving before now, whether he was saying this to me or his ex girlfriend. 

I agreed that I didn’t understand. I wouldn’t dare argue with his truth. All the same my heart broke; I didn’t understand him even though I tried more than he realised. I tried as hard as I could. But trying isn’t enough.