If I can look at it objectively, which sometimes I’m able. I realize that for every harsh preacher I’ve found who walks away from their own bullshit, I’ve found someone who was soft and gentle. Not just someone I thought possessed those qualities.
I remember the feeling of waiting for those words. Each time. Waiting for the space for those words. The I Love You. That final feeling of safety with someone you care for. I remember waiting for it. The sealing up of any unsurety between the two of you. And saying that it was okay to stay. Okay to build. To rest, or repair. Either way, to move forward together.
I guess I was never quite sure exactly what you were saying to me in those five minutes I was allowed. Or what I was actually being accused of. Most importantly, why you never came to me with it. Why you went behind my back instead of asking anything honestly. Why that was okay. Why you viewed me so far beneath you and talked to me like I was trash. Why you felt you had that right. Why you weren’t willing to answer my questions. All of my Why‘s. All of my How Could You‘s. Why I no longer mattered. Why you were responsible for nothing. But I do know I kept my promise to you. Because I had to. It was a promise I made for some peace. But I kept it. No questions asked.
Sometimes risks pay off. And sometimes they end up being the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. Sometimes they pay off for a bit before they fucking kill you. They make you feel damn good for a while. As long as you’re actin’ right. And sometimes shit just ain’t fair. End of story.
My perspective on love has not changed. I don’t believe that Love is a dirty word. Nor do I believe that my love is some filthy disease to be caught by somebody. If I were to let myself be convinced of that by someone who had no feelings for me, I would be living in a well-deserved hell for the rest of my life.