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?

Advertisements

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.

Tell me you love me.

Black as night, clear as day

I’m misunderstanding

in every way

what you don’t say; but do

I never hear

don’t have a clue

 — —

Sometimes people tell you that they love you, in a language you don’t understand.

You’re looking for the universe and missing the stars.

Support.

She was always so stoic and still, sitting in her chair across from me. A piece of furniture with piercing eyes and listening ears. It seems odd to realise how little expression she had when I was telling her my most vulnerable feelings, and how safe I felt doing just that. Maybe the lack of expression allowed me to feel safe because I could not read on her face what she was thinking. She was excellent at her job.

She told me once that my Mother needed to be my Mother. That I was the child and I couldn’t support her in the way that she was asking. I felt sad about that even though I knew she was right. I wanted to rebel against that idea because I knew of – but could never understand – all the sacrifices my Mother had made to make me who I am. It seemed unfair to me that I could just say “no. I can’t help you” when she could never do that. Not to me; my siblings; my Father.

I can’t help but wonder who is there for the Mothers when they need that support. Do they just ask and ask and have everyone say “no. I can’t help you” every time they open their arms?

Megan: Love just needs a bit of business

My friend Megan is the most organised person I’ve ever met. When it comes to dealing with a long distance relationship, Megan and her partner got really organised and they made a sort of business plan for how to make it work while they were apart.

 

References discussed:

Long Distance Relationships: Communication strategies to facilitate success – Sylvia Fuerbringer

The Five Love Languages