cos it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea but i'd rather be here than on land
Yesterday is already a bit of a blur in my head.
"Sweetie, are you alright?" I remember he asked me as we lay facing towards each other on my bed, looking into each other's eyes with a mixture of curiosity and concern. This was after his constant prodding in the hope to get me to overlook his obnoxious self and to stop, quite literally, turning my back towards him. This was something I often did, turning around and refusing to look him in the eye if I were irritated or upset at him. I did it in order to avoid conflict - except now we had been together long enough that he knew that it was a sign of something wrong.
I stammered out a response, trying to find some excuse to be elusive when finally I just sighed and murmured, "It's been rough lately. It's been a rough month. I feel like it's not okay for me to be me, the way I am, unless I change something about myself so that I fit in with everyone else."
"Work?" he asked. He was alluding to the fact that earlier that day, I had been upset that I felt like I was nothing like my coworkers because I wasn't the typical 20-something year old college student, and never would be. I shook my head. That wasn't it.
"No. Everything. Everybody. Including you."
"But I love you. Just the way you are, sweetie."
There was an awkward amount of silence after that.
"You don't believe me, do you."
This is where my memory gets fuzzy - I don't remember if I shook my head or if I did nothing. I don't remember if he asked if we could cuddle under the covers first so he could wrap his arms around me reassuringly, or if we continued to lay there just staring at each other, trying to find the context in the little that could be said.
What I do remember though was a sound barely over a whisper, the sound of him asking me "is this why you've been pushing me away?"
"I'm scared you're going to turn out to be like everyone else," I whispered, my voice raspy with worry. "I'm scared you don't want me this way."
"Because of this?" He asked, letting his fingertips tickle the sensitive skin of my stomach. I wanted to laugh from ticklishness, but I couldn't. "This is a part of you just like anything else. I don't mind this."
"Not that," I corrected, and I tapped the side of my head. "This. I'm scared that you don't like this, just like everybody else who doesn't think it's okay that I'm me."
I remember the feeling of having his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in tightly and his lips pressing against my forehead.
"I love this just as much as I love any other part of you. You may say it's fucked up and broken beyond repair, but I love this part of you. I don't care if you lose or gain tons of weight, I don't care if you shop at New York and Company or Target, I don't care if you decide to have an entire make-over if you want. But don't ever change this. It's the part of you that's always sweet and thoughtful of me, more than I could ever ask for. I want you to always be my sweet, little princess.
Why are you crying? Please don't cry..."
"I'm not upset, dummy. I'm crying because I love you."
It's been 11 months since we kissed and 6 months since he asked me to be his girlfriend... And I still feel like he understands me and loves me more than I could have ever imagined.
"Sweetie, are you alright?" I remember he asked me as we lay facing towards each other on my bed, looking into each other's eyes with a mixture of curiosity and concern. This was after his constant prodding in the hope to get me to overlook his obnoxious self and to stop, quite literally, turning my back towards him. This was something I often did, turning around and refusing to look him in the eye if I were irritated or upset at him. I did it in order to avoid conflict - except now we had been together long enough that he knew that it was a sign of something wrong.
I stammered out a response, trying to find some excuse to be elusive when finally I just sighed and murmured, "It's been rough lately. It's been a rough month. I feel like it's not okay for me to be me, the way I am, unless I change something about myself so that I fit in with everyone else."
"Work?" he asked. He was alluding to the fact that earlier that day, I had been upset that I felt like I was nothing like my coworkers because I wasn't the typical 20-something year old college student, and never would be. I shook my head. That wasn't it.
"No. Everything. Everybody. Including you."
"But I love you. Just the way you are, sweetie."
There was an awkward amount of silence after that.
"You don't believe me, do you."
This is where my memory gets fuzzy - I don't remember if I shook my head or if I did nothing. I don't remember if he asked if we could cuddle under the covers first so he could wrap his arms around me reassuringly, or if we continued to lay there just staring at each other, trying to find the context in the little that could be said.
What I do remember though was a sound barely over a whisper, the sound of him asking me "is this why you've been pushing me away?"
"I'm scared you're going to turn out to be like everyone else," I whispered, my voice raspy with worry. "I'm scared you don't want me this way."
"Because of this?" He asked, letting his fingertips tickle the sensitive skin of my stomach. I wanted to laugh from ticklishness, but I couldn't. "This is a part of you just like anything else. I don't mind this."
"Not that," I corrected, and I tapped the side of my head. "This. I'm scared that you don't like this, just like everybody else who doesn't think it's okay that I'm me."
I remember the feeling of having his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in tightly and his lips pressing against my forehead.
"I love this just as much as I love any other part of you. You may say it's fucked up and broken beyond repair, but I love this part of you. I don't care if you lose or gain tons of weight, I don't care if you shop at New York and Company or Target, I don't care if you decide to have an entire make-over if you want. But don't ever change this. It's the part of you that's always sweet and thoughtful of me, more than I could ever ask for. I want you to always be my sweet, little princess.
Why are you crying? Please don't cry..."
"I'm not upset, dummy. I'm crying because I love you."
It's been 11 months since we kissed and 6 months since he asked me to be his girlfriend... And I still feel like he understands me and loves me more than I could have ever imagined.