(no subject)
This season tugs at my heart strings every year. It's an fixation I can't shake, a theme that probably gets old. It's my favorite. It might even border on an obsession. I suppose it's fitting, then, that most everything meaningful to me has its home here. Beginnings and endings. Growth and change. It's poetically perfect when you've always lived a place with four strong seasons. My life has become accustom to following them.
Clicking back through droves of memories, this place used to belong to The Jen and my little superhero. I wasn't entirely convinced that it wasn't going to stay that way. I have to admit, for a long time it was both sacred and haunted for that reason. The words that explained us, the pictures of smiles and looks we reserved for each other. It was a love that was beautiful and terrifying; it brought us together and tore us apart depending on the day. I'm learning slowly that love has bigger boundaries than I once expected. It can exist in different shapes and forms, and one doesn't have to kill another.
I don't know if the new love I'm fertilizing will ever set eyes on this place. I know that right now I don't know her well enough to know if she'd understand. I don't know that her and I have enough in our tiny history to prepare her for a love-like-this that existed before her. Perhaps I'm scared she will try to compare them; perhaps I fear my own failure to explain it to her. What I do know is that abandoning this place, or deleting what was uttered here, is something I can't do. What was is what has made me who I am.
Her name is Suzette aka Spoons and sometimes, “The Twink”. This entry is for her.
We were laying together and cuddling a week or so ago when one demon or another decided it needed to stop by for a jarring “hello”. As I was gasping for breath, I uttered to her, “I'm sorry. Please try to remember that we're both here because everything before us was a failure.” She told me to shut up, threw a leg over my thigh, and rubbed my head. We stayed there in silence for a good chunk of time. Two days later, in a nondescript moment, she grabbed my hand and pulled me toward her. “I've been thinking about what you said and I'd like to disagree. It could be possible that everything failed so that we could exist.” And so it is - this women is changing the way I see the world.
She hasn't erased what existed before. There are still moments when I'm alone and sorrow takes over; failure drops on my shoulders like a leaded vest. Admittedly, her presence sometimes makes me more aware of it. I know that it means I'm starting to care about her. I also know that it means I'm finally letting go. Part of me wants to fight it like nobody's business, but I know that I can't. For all of us.
The Jen is right, we were angsty little monsters when we met. We had been ridden hard by life and were convinced we were the cause. We were landmines and demons. We tore up as much as we put down. When we finished raising each other, we left each other. That's today's version. It has changed a hundred times and will likely change a hundred more. We were too complex, from beginning to end, to rectify or clarify in a space like this. And. As stated in my favorite book, we write about what we don't understand. I've written us a lot. I don't know if I'll ever understand.
Spoons and I, however, we were created for this time and space. She pulls out something new in me. There are new eyes and adorations reserved just for her. She has looks and adorations reserved just for me. It's been a long time since I've looked at someone and seen that beam returned. The one that says “you're my superhero”. We are kind in excess, talk and listen in excess, and laugh like it's going out of style. We sing and cook and cuddle. We balance it with being responsible. We have an agreement to take it one day at time, and we are. She's teaching me a new thing or two about love.