A love story: not your ordinary love

I remember when I first met you…well, maybe not exact exactly when we met, but I remember what you were doing when you first stood out to me. I remember the group of us walking to the Subway. I was going back and forth with the loud one from New York, and you were there, observing. You told me later that you were going to write me off if I was impressed by the fast talking and the bravado. I remember being impressed by the fact that you laughed enough to be part of the interaction but that largely, you were taking stock of me.  I saw myself in you.

I remember when I started taking you seriously. I remember when I started listening closer when you waxed poetically about how in awe you were of me. How you made something little like holding my hand feel like a big deal. How you didn’t have a problem letting anyone know that if I would have you, you would be had. Happily. Unabashedly so. I remember that you had me looking at myself differently, that you made me realize that I wanted a man who made me feel like I was the only woman in the room no matter where we were or who we were with.  I saw myself in you.

I remember when I really saw you for the first time. The very first time we met, I remember telling a mutual acquaintance that you talked too much. He laughed. The second time we met, you got out of the car after driving for hours on no sleep and walked in my house in the wee hours of the morning and asked to marry me. On bended knee. In front of people that knew and loved me. I didn’t exactly take you seriously, but when I answered “maybe” I realized that I wanted to be asked. You said things to me that told you me you’d already decided I would be yours, if not for ever, then definitely for a time. Somehow, you managed to be chivalrous and mannish at the same time. Your words could build me up or knock me down, depending on your mood.  I saw myself in you.

I remember how you felt like home so QUICKLY.  I issued a flirty challenge and you accepted. We danced until the club closed…and everybody else had been ready to go. You let things move at my pace, though you also let me know that you let me have my way. We watched Netflix or Hulu or DVDs until I fell asleep. I would lay on your chest and you told me that I fit perfectly. You weighed your words; you didn’t talk much but when you did you said plenty. I saw myself in you.

You thought love could be bought. As I watched your pockets get deeper, I realized that. I also realized you weren’t sure of my price. You offered diamonds, vacations,  beautiful dresses, and the house of my dreams. Had I chosen you, I could have had those things, but I wouldn’t have had happiness…because that is all you thought to give. Though I did want those things, I wanted to earn them, I wanted to build with someone, I wanted someone who supported my dreams the way I supported theirs. I chose me.

You thought love was pretty words. You never ran out of them. I never though they weren’t sincere, I just realized that you chose words that supported the truth you believed in, instead of the Truth that was. I couldn’t live in your world, as beautiful as it was, because it had no depth.I wanted your pretty words, but pretty words could not conceal the fact that the world was burning down all around you. Your pretty words turned into silence when I asked about the Truths you could no longer hide. The silence was deafening. I chose me.

You thought love was machismo. You wanted to be the man, the head.You asked me about my God to make sure we were equally yoked. You quoted the Bible to me. At the same time, sex was equated with intimacy. In better times, we were lockstep. In worse times, doubt assailed you. I watched you become someone you had disparaged to me in other times. You brushed me off when I questioned your decisions. As much as I wanted a man to lead, I didn’t know how how to follow when I wasn’t sure of the destination. I chose me.

You thought love was a game. You were a gambler at heart. Your words were strategic. In the beginning, you could call and raise with the best of them. When the stakes got high and we started playing for keeps the game got interesting. I showed my hand, and you could talk strategy out loud, but you couldn’t quite decide to play or fold.   I got up from the table. I chose me.

Each “you” has brought me closer to me. When I looked at my mate- my mirror- and no longer saw a reflection of me I moved on. It wasn’t always clean. There were late night phone calls, texts, and emails asking what had happened to us. I realize now that I asked you a question you couldn’t answer. We grew apart because you had no idea who I had become. I wasn’t the same person I was when we met. I didn’t want the same things and I couldn’t force myself to be held to that same agreement.

I still love “you”.  I am eternally grateful for the knowledge that only you could give me. I now know me better so I love me better. To be continued…

 

 

 

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