Men bearing bouquets of toxic love and the tenacity of strong women can be lethal combined.
We, as women, think we can heal and soothe. They seek to cage and tame.
It stops being love and starts being war.
She is all spirit and he tried to crush her.
Love is compromise, but only between two people who adore each other as is so much compromise is nothing more than Thai food when the other is really craving Chinese.
She tried with him, I watched her. Everything she built, he undermined and it collapsed.
I have been that girl.
We’re out now.
She said: If there is a man in my life I want him to never think badly of me, to always be understanding
To see my flaws and childishness as elements of something he loves and adores as a whole. I watched Good Will Hunting the other day. I want to be loved like Robin Williams loved his wife.
Or nothing at all
I said: I love everything about that movie
She said: The way you talk about love, I want to be loved
I said: I realized that (love) was possible when I met you Leah
I realized if she and I could love each other this much, flaws and all…someone else could too.
I started not accepting anything less.
My idea of love has evolved to absolute simplicity. I just do.
I don’t need you with me, I just need to know you exist.
Love does not covet or crush. Love is free will and choice. Love is acceptance or it isn’t love.
I said: I’m starting to believe more and more that the more ‘us’ we become and the more we accept what we are the better people come to us.
This is the truth.
I know what I am, I love what I am and have found her, him, them.
Once upon a time I thought I had to be perfect to be loved.
The problem with that is everyone’s idea of perfect is different and I lost myself seeking to be their ideals.
I had to come forward as myself, be forced out actually to see I was worth loving as is.
And even then I almost lost him before I realized he just wants me. ME and the weird little world that comes with me.
I am so far from perfect. I have strange, wanton wishes and wants and cravings that I have to obey. I want to be slutty as fuck one minute and adored and snuggled the next. I swear like a truck stop hooker. My moods swing far and wide. Sometimes I get so caught up in writing, or sadness or some stupid TV show I lose hours and days. I forget to eat on purpose, my muse speaks when my belly is empty. I love my sleep and my friends and cannot live happily without either.
I abhor drama, manipulation and control.
I accept everyone at face value. I want the same.
I am a decade older than her. I have walked this road, been dragged down it by my hair, been left to die on the side of it and I recognize the scenery now. I don’t want to go back. Lost in the idea of what some man thinks I should be, what I think I should be.
You don’t know about real loss, ’cause that only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. Good Will Hunting
I have dared to love like this, I love like this again. It is my way. It’s the only way.
I am what I am and I love how I love.
As much as I want to impart my wisdom, some lessons must be passed through and endured to learn.
At the very end of her mess I stepped into some shit of my own. She and I tend to run parallel.
What took her a year to learn I was in and out of in a month.
That first glimpse of “you have to change to make me happy” and I was out the door.
I held onto my love for her and hers for me as a life preserver and I didn’t drown. She was my map out of that place. And I hers.
This year we will have our adventures.
We may very well end up old women, sitting on a porch swing, cackling about the good old days, drinking sun tea and smiling.
Nothing but these memories of love and loss and each other for company.