The rule of 3; a sleepy ramble

My first chance at love and commitment left a bad taste in my mouth. Memories of a boy who couldn't quite be a man, a lover who couldn't quite commit, emotional abuse masked as care and attention. He made me feel like I was nothing without him. I told him I loved him, and I was wrong.

My second attempt at something real was the sweetest slow burn, like a sour candy you can't help but over indulge in. He was focused, strong, resourceful, and well prepared for the future. I thought we had made ourselves a home together, built a nest out of trust and familiarity. I made myself nothing without him, and when he left, that was all I had. We said we loved each other, I guess he was wrong.

My third love, he's like that perfect inexplicable shade of gold a sunrise might look under perfect conditions. He's patient, generous, young hearted and wise beyond his years. He has a poets soul, boyish charm, and the eyes of a lover asking for one last kiss. He scares me the most. Because I don't need him to be who I am, to feel complete, but there's no one else I could ever dream of having share my bed and aspirations. Alone, we are each castles built tall and strong out of stone and stained glass, together we are a kingdom, ruled entirely by late night talks and half asleep kisses. I told him I loved him, more than once, in different stages, and I cry almost every time. He told me he loves me, I don't know if he meant it, but for once I think we've got it right.