This is love and all she knows of it - sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it is wonderful, and sometimes it is strange and mostly it is beyond understanding and overwhelming.
This is the only way she knows how to love - resting her head on his shoulder, wearing his shirts to bed, writing her heart out in posts, using endearments she has never uttered before, recognizing despair in his voice and weeping for him, giving him all of herself.
The only way she knows how to be - his.
She has spent her whole life around love, wanting it, needing it, seeking it, waiting for it, feeling it, losing it and sometimes she wonders if she has ever before known what it is.
I was sitting by the window sobbing last night. I was thinking of that man I dreamt of all those years ago. He would want nothing more than he wanted me. He would understand what was inside me. He would untangle those endless intricate knots at my core simply by being himself.
But most of all, he would not have to break me to love me. He would not wait till my tears flowed. He would sense my pain in the way I said his name. He would know that if you sliced away all the layers of my anger, you would only find someone hurting.
He would not have to break me to love me. He would love me anyway.
I sat by the window and sobbed and remembered, you take care of yourself. No one takes care of you. No one should have to. You are your own responsibility. You heal yourself.
I will never let anyone touch me the way you did.
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