She kept asking the same questions over and over. She wanted to be inside him, to hear him speak; anything would do. She didn't want to be given answers that excluded his participation in her process. She wanted him to guide her by taking her hand. She imagined him loving her and caring for her even from afar. She wanted him to respect her, regardless.
As she let go of who she wanted him to be and listened to who he actually was, she realized their differences. Still, she wanted him. She chose him for a reason that stood in front of her at the top of the stairs and planted her waiting in that spot for him to pass. He meant something to who she was to become. He was part of her.
She wanted to tell him this--and almost did--many times. But she wanted it to last in his heart and be held by him when he fell asleep at night, its essence on one of his pillows. She wanted to be special. She wanted him to look up to her and ask her for advice too, to see something in her that he wanted to be, that he wanted to have. She wanted him to find answers in her.
She never lost hope in the silence between them and all that it meant while they breathed together side by side. It was all she could do to remember her long distance drive with his hand on her heart as she drove across the desert. He helped her breathe; inhales were deeper, exhales were fulfilling, and retentions were surrendering. All of this with his hand on her heart. She couldn't do this for herself.
She learned that she finds her other half of herself in her yoga practice. It lies waiting for her each morning, reviving itself with vigor. But as she leaves, in her wholeness, it seeps away from her bit by bit without his arms around her to hold her pieces together. She needs him to keep her whole, melting easily without his shell encapsulating her.
She grew up alone but she fostered a strong independent heart that took her through her life. Her beauty--that others always seemed to focus on first--was secondary to her heart. As she grew older, to her, her beauty made her sad because it reminded her of how much she wanted his arms around her and where was he. He became the men she pursued, the beautiful men who could have others, who loved her, who emotionally abused her, who ridiculed her heart for loving. That is what her beauty gave her.
She learned at an early age how to be provocative and then walk away. To not connect was to skip over her vulnerable heart. What she really wanted though was for him to follow her. She wanted him to read her. She didn't know how to ask that question... This lasted most of her life.
She learned how to protect herself, in waves of time through relationship after relationship that all built upon each other as a tapestry of heartbreaks. She was tough and then she gave herself to him to have, to love, to cherish. He loved her. She realized it was in her own mind how much he played a part in her heart, and then she couldn't get away from him without guilt or his exploitation of her love for him. She cried, sometimes for her own loneliness, sometimes for her circumstances that left her feeling without her true man who deserved her beyond words and was still looking for her. Her shield went out to protect her heart. She became extraordinary because of her feelings for him which drove her to be who she became.
She yearns to be taken but is afraid to ask. It's easier to walk away and cry silently for a missed chance. She overshadows this desire with humor and extra words that overlay feeling and truth. Its truth is provocative and clear--her true longing. Her heart.
© r.e.l. 5/21/17