I realize that I am a lot, to deal with, to trust and to love. I am sitting here perplexed by my reaction to your kindness and wish to take care of me. It was a small thing you wanted to do, pay for dinner, and my inner, selfishly independent, caged animal reared itself. I am seriously scared, all the time, that you will abandon me at no notice and the fiery girl that wont let you be a man and care for her is a result of that. Not your fault or problem, just you should probably be aware. I am so desperately in love with a phantom, in my mind, that I am also full of fear.
I am not asking for you to change anything, that would put me in a place where I don’t ever want to stand again. I will never ask. I will wait, and if that means I wait until our next life, then I guess that’s what I will do. I will do whatever it takes to keep my lover and friend in my life, at my kitchen counter, eating my cooking, spending time, talking world politics and sex, music and sports, love and the ever after, virus and vaccine.
But I will ask you to not think that I wouldn’t let you be my man. If you were mine, I would not be so fiercely independent. I know that you want to cherish your women, I understand that, I appreciate that, about you. But the problem here is in the plurality of the word, as well as my own character. Myself, I am too proud and too damaged to let you do that in this strange halfway relationship we are in. If you want to be my caretaker, my protector and my man, then really there is only one answer, own it, be it. Don’t stand with one foot in the door and one somewhere else. You, by asking me to let you do these things are making me relinquish some of my remaining strength to you, and as little as I have left to stand with on my own, I believe that is unfair to ask of me. I am unable to be your damsel and an independent woman who sees her knight but once a fortnight.
Loving you has been a wonderful ride, full of twists and turns, joy and anguish and I choose to not quit. Sometimes all of me wants to run and hide, to do more damage to myself, I guess. Mostly though, I hope that you will come to your senses and realize that you deserve to be loved this way. That you deserve to be happy, that the gods did not thrust us together for naught. I want to be with you, now. I want to be with you next year. I want to take you to Italy. I want to be beside you when the shit hits the fan with one of our health situations. Perhaps it will be you, holding onto my body when my soul escapes into the ether, and perhaps it will be reversed. But who else should it be, really? I also think that you are never going to hold on to what I so dearly need you to hold onto. I am so very certain, oftentimes that you want this new life with me. And then you go away, returning and the feeling is different. I am unsure of what has happened in the interim and I feel a bit lost.
Never Ending Love Letter 