cracking the shell a little more each day.
It was two years ago that my boyfriend took me to visit the grave of my grandma Margaret. We weren't dating at the time; there was just some flirting going on, but I never really expected him to fall in love with me. I remember that day we went to the cemetery, how beautiful it was, what a perfect, if slightly chilly, day. He sat in the car and waited for me after we found the grave, because it had been a few years since I had been there and I couldn't quite remember where it was. He waited in the car, telling me to take all the time I needed. And I asked my grandmothers, and God, as I stood there at Margaret's grave side, I asked them all to let this man be the one. I had already fallen in love with him, but I never believed I could be good enough for him, or that he would ever really see anything in me. I talked with my grandmothers and said how much I loved the man waiting for me in the car, and if they could please help me, please, let him somehow see that maybe I was worth the shot.
And now, here we are two years later. I'm still as hopelessly in love with him, and he still loves me. Life is not easy or kind to either of us, but we get by, we make do, and we support each other. We carve out time from our hectic schedules to be together, even when it's for no more than the time it takes to say goodnight, crawl into bed, and fall asleep. It is still a wonderful feeling to be so well loved.
Sometimes I let myself look ahead to what the future might bring, but I try to not do that very often. I am afraid to looking too far ahead and losing sight of what is right in front of me. Some days I dream about what it would be like to live under the same roof, share the same bills, the same trials, the same housework. To make plans on what to do with the gardens or the yard, how to remodel the kitchen, or how to make the basement livable. But to do that, if it ever comes to that, will require sacrifice and compromise on both sides. It will require someone to give up their house, and both of us to slightly change our habits. Maybe we'll never be ready for that. But we joke that we'd make a pretty awesome husband/wife team. Who knows? I don't.
I try to live for the moment. I try to not get overly excited about the future, or deeply depressed with something doesn't turn out right. It's growth for me. It's learning. And it's a good thing, even if it hurts sometimes.
I have gradually, and sadly, come to realise that I will never have the support around this house that I once had from my housemate. We have had so many talks now about how she needs to help more, and she agrees, says she understands, and then nothing changes. I'm, oddly, okay with this, as I grow to feel more and more in possession of my own home. It frustrates me sometimes when I see the dishes pile up and know that I'll have to wash them all. There's a sugar coated baking sheet out there now that's been sitting on the stove for over a month. I kept hoping she would take responsibility for it and wash it, but that's my own foolishness. It's sad, really. I know now what people who still love each other mean when they say "I want a divorce". I do still love her like a sister, but I wish sometimes that she would move out. I feel taken advantage of. I feel taken for granted. We've had this talk. Nothing's changed. Maybe nothing ever will. I made a promise that I'd never kick her out because she couldn't pay me - well, she's finally started to pay to live here (after almost five years), but it's too little too late. I wish I hadn't made that promise. I wish I wasn't so kind and loving. I wish I could say "you blew it". But I can't, because she's my sister, and it's not the kind of person I am.
I don't know where I'm going, but I'm trying to simply sit back and enjoy the ride now. I take pride in my home more, I take pride in myself more. I don't hate myself as I used to, and that's in a large part due to the love of my boyfriend. He encouraged me to get the help I never could have gotten alone. We're a simple couple, and it's nice that way.
And now, here we are two years later. I'm still as hopelessly in love with him, and he still loves me. Life is not easy or kind to either of us, but we get by, we make do, and we support each other. We carve out time from our hectic schedules to be together, even when it's for no more than the time it takes to say goodnight, crawl into bed, and fall asleep. It is still a wonderful feeling to be so well loved.
Sometimes I let myself look ahead to what the future might bring, but I try to not do that very often. I am afraid to looking too far ahead and losing sight of what is right in front of me. Some days I dream about what it would be like to live under the same roof, share the same bills, the same trials, the same housework. To make plans on what to do with the gardens or the yard, how to remodel the kitchen, or how to make the basement livable. But to do that, if it ever comes to that, will require sacrifice and compromise on both sides. It will require someone to give up their house, and both of us to slightly change our habits. Maybe we'll never be ready for that. But we joke that we'd make a pretty awesome husband/wife team. Who knows? I don't.
I try to live for the moment. I try to not get overly excited about the future, or deeply depressed with something doesn't turn out right. It's growth for me. It's learning. And it's a good thing, even if it hurts sometimes.
I have gradually, and sadly, come to realise that I will never have the support around this house that I once had from my housemate. We have had so many talks now about how she needs to help more, and she agrees, says she understands, and then nothing changes. I'm, oddly, okay with this, as I grow to feel more and more in possession of my own home. It frustrates me sometimes when I see the dishes pile up and know that I'll have to wash them all. There's a sugar coated baking sheet out there now that's been sitting on the stove for over a month. I kept hoping she would take responsibility for it and wash it, but that's my own foolishness. It's sad, really. I know now what people who still love each other mean when they say "I want a divorce". I do still love her like a sister, but I wish sometimes that she would move out. I feel taken advantage of. I feel taken for granted. We've had this talk. Nothing's changed. Maybe nothing ever will. I made a promise that I'd never kick her out because she couldn't pay me - well, she's finally started to pay to live here (after almost five years), but it's too little too late. I wish I hadn't made that promise. I wish I wasn't so kind and loving. I wish I could say "you blew it". But I can't, because she's my sister, and it's not the kind of person I am.
I don't know where I'm going, but I'm trying to simply sit back and enjoy the ride now. I take pride in my home more, I take pride in myself more. I don't hate myself as I used to, and that's in a large part due to the love of my boyfriend. He encouraged me to get the help I never could have gotten alone. We're a simple couple, and it's nice that way.