Time with you slips from my hands before I know it and I always wish for more with you. I don’t remember being this comfortable physically or emotionally with any man since him.
I’m still protecting myself–and you–from the damage his memory can do. Telling you won’t be easy. You know I’m skittish but you don’t know it isn’t just loud noises and sudden movements. Last week, something dropped and I jumped physically in your arms, where I was almost asleep. “Hey,” you joked, “I’m not going to let anything hurt you.” It was something falling off a shelf, not something whizzing by in anger. You arms around me weren’t holding me down. Your voice wasn’t raised. But I still flinched. You’ll understand why some day. I’ve worked hard to unpack my baggage but the suitcase is still out on the floor. I have a feeling you’ll understand.
Thank you for being so kind. For liking my quirks. For liking the people who mean the most to me. For telling me I make you smile. For making me smile. For letting me have my independence. For never asking where I was or why I didn’t text right back. For making me feel desirable and loved, though the word isn’t on my lips yet. Most of all, thank you for giving me hope.