saving me (love)

Love in all forms. Love from others. Love for others. Love of others for each other. Love for books. Love from my cat. Love for steak. Love from the earth. Promised love. Past love. The hope of future love. Making love. The love of others for one another. Ingrid Michaelson's songs about love. Love, love, love.

first

I've never had a relationship anniversary before. Neither has John. This relationship has already lasted longer than any previous relationship for either of us, so we've had a lot to celebrate along the way, but a year is still a big milestone.

I usually lose interest after a few months. I get weirded out by the closeness, or i get jealous, or he gets jealous, or things just sort of fall apart.

I don't know what a relationship is supposed to look like at this point. I don't know how we are supposed to behave together, how i am supposed to feel, what is supposed to come next. I don't know what to expect.

I never expected that i would be happier with him every day. I never expected that simply walking down the street and holding his hand would fill me with such joy that i would start to skip. (Not hyperbole, by the way. This has actually happened.) I never expected to miss him so intensely. I never expected that the best part of my day would be falling asleep at his side.

But i'm also filled with a sense of panic and impending doom. Because i don't know what a relationship is supposed to look like at this point. I am excited to be with him in this moment, but i'm also excited for the moments to come, and shouldn't we be in the next moment already? How am i supposed to behave? How am i supposed to feel? What is supposed to come next? Are we going too fast? Are we going too slow?

Fortunately, John is patient enough and loves me enough to handle all the crazy i throw at him. And here's the thing: he doesn't know what the relationship is supposed to look like at this point, either. The difference between us is that he sees this as a time of excitement and adventure, where every day is something new and unpredictable and we get to decide what comes next. I see this as a time with enormous potential for me to screw up in a big way.

I've said it before and i'll say it again: thank God for John. He is brave enough and patient enough and loves me enough to not run in the opposite direction when i start getting freaked out about this stuff. He gently and lovingly helps me talk through my fears and concerns and reassures me in his commitment and affection. After all, i may not know what our relationship is supposed to look like at this point, but neither does he. How will he know if i'm screwing something up?

It's not so much a question of doing things "right", but more a question of making him happy. And so far, he's happy just to be around me. All he wants from me is me. I worry that the day might come when i will not be enough and i will have nothing more to give. I worry that the day might come that i will be too much. But it's been a year and there has been a lot of crazy and he's not running yet. It may be that he actually knows what he's getting himself into and really does want me. That is humbling and exciting and terrifying and awe-inspiring and very, very beautiful. Either way, he is so happy in this moment that he is content just to stay here a while longer.

I'm learning to find that contentment. I still want to run ahead, but i make sure to loop back occasionally to walk at his side for a while, to stroll in silence holding his hand. And then i take off running again, because i have faith that he will still be there when i loop back the next time.

I love everything you are with everything i am, my dearest. Here's to year two.

How Not to Get a Girl 2

Another guy i work with. Again, all totally real.

N: So you and John are not engaged yet?
Me: No. There's no need to rush things like that. If we're going to be spending the rest of our lives together, then we have the rest of our lives. We don't need to get married immediately.
N: Wow. You're so amazing. If only you were single . . .

N: Hey, gorgeous. How's John?

Me: He's great. We're great. Things are so great with us.

N: Awww, you guys are so cute together. I wish I could find someone like you.

N: How was your break?

Me: Pretty good.

N: And how's John? Did you guys spend any time together over the holidays?

Me: Yeah; actually, he came down to Maryland with me and met my whole family.

N: How did that go?

Me: It went great. Everyone really loved him. It was wonderful.

N: Awesome. So are you guys still together, or . . . ?

Me: So you have a girlfriend now?

N: Yeah. I figured I couldn't wait around for you forever.

Me: I wondered why you hadn't been hitting on me as much lately.

N: Ha ha ha!

Me: Awwww. You laugh like i'm kidding.

N: Guess what I'm doing in two hours?!
Me: Making out with your girlfriend?
N: No. She's six hours away.
Me: I know. I just like to taunt you.
N: Ew. Um, for some reason my brain connected "taunt" with you and me making out, and . . . Ew. Not that I think it would be gross to make out with you, just . . . With the relationship we have, it would be . . . Not that I want to make out with you . . . Or that I've thought about it . . .
Me: Do you need another shovel? Oh, no, it looks like you're doing just fine with the one you've got.

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Ford/Victor

Since neither of these relationships lasted for longer than a month, i'm combining them into one entry.

"Ford" was first. When i was fourteen, my friends and i started inexplicably taking late-night trips to Acme (grocery store). Looking back, i'm sure these trips really only happened half a dozen times, but it seemed like we were there once a week, usually to stock up on chips and soda for a sleepover.

There was one bag boy who was HOT. And i don't mean that we were fourteen and thought he was cute but really he was dorky. I mean he looked like an Abercrombie model. He was clearly older than we were, but no one was sure how much older. He always seemed to be there when we were, and always seemed to be looking at me. I actually didn't notice his attention until one of my friends pointed it out.

"Acme Boy is staring at you!" she whispered piercingly.
"What? No. I'm sure he's looking at all of us," i whispered back.

But the other girls soon confirmed it: Acme Boy had eyes only for me. Many months went by of awkward staring and smiling. When i was there with my mom, he'd check me out. When i was there with my friends, he'd check me out. Finally, one day, i was there with my uncle. As we were in the checkout line, Acme Boy was bagging groceries two lanes away. A few minutes later, he found a reason to move to the very next line. We continued staring and grinning until i was distracted by my uncle. Suddenly, Acme Boy was standing right next to me, and he slipped me a piece of paper, whispering, "Call me." On it was his name and number.

My friends and i were speechless with giggles. (What? We were fourteen. The stereotype is true: teenage girls giggle a lot.) My mom encouraged me to call, which i did the next day.

As it turned out, Ford was seventeen. He had just turned seventeen, and i was two months away from my fifteenth birthday, so it wasn't that significant a gap. As it further turned out, Ford had not realized that i was fourteen. He had thought i was twelve.

We continued chatting (and made out a few times) over the next few weeks, until Ford learned that i didn't want to have sex until i was married. I never heard from him again, though my sisters have since spotted him waiting tables at a sports bar. They say he has put on weight, and they are pretty sure he's gay.

"Victor", oddly enough, was an old friend of Fusco. I met him when my brother started taking Tae Kwon Do in town. Victor was in his class. He looked like a Hollister model, combining skater-boy edge with big blue eyes, dimples, and golden curls. I fell for him instantly and kept crushing on him for an entire year, even during the whole Ford fiasco. But he had a girlfriend.

Eventually, however, they broke up, he noticed me, and we started texting. I was nearly heartbroken when i learned that he was interested in a girl from my youth group, and tried to dissuade him by persuading him of her craziness (which was true, by the way. She was crazy.) The next day, he asked me out. Obviously i should have turned him down, but i was fifteen and he was really cute.

We dated for nearly three months before he broke it off because he was "going through some stuff" and needed to face it alone, like a "lone wolf". It wasn't until a few months after that that i learned he'd been cheating on me with the crazy girl from my youth group. Or maybe he was cheating on her with me. I never found out enough about the timeline to be sure, and i never wanted to. I did find out that he had been basically molesting her for their entire relationship. She was two years younger than we were (thirteen), and way too young and sheltered to be dating an older boy or to be making mature decisions about her sexuality. He'd pressured her into all kinds of things, and i am just selfish enough to still be glad that, for whatever reason, i had managed to escape that part of his character.

Other, Not Less

Settling does not necessarily mean settling for less. Sometimes it means settling for something else.

Let's say that you had spaghetti for lunch. Now you are at dinner with some friends, and you are trying to decide between chicken Parmesan with ziti and chicken fettuccine alfredo. Assuming that both dishes cost the same and have the same calorie counts and nutritional value, which one do you pick? You really want the chicken parm, but you talk yourself into the alfredo simply because you had spaghetti for lunch and you feel like you should have something other than marinara sauce.

This is settling. Not because the chicken parm is objectively, inherently better than the alfredo, but because the parm is what you want.

I have a friend, "Morgan", who is really interested in this guy, "Cal". They dated in college, and after breaking up became best friends. For years, Cal has been in love with Morgan, and in the last few months she has started to fall for him as well. But the last time that they broke up, Morgan's mother attempted to comfort her by saying, "Well, at least now you won't have to worry about having ugly kids." Now Morgan worries about what people might say when they see them together. She worries about the judgement and derision of their friends. She thinks he's attractive, but she worries that others won't. And she worries that her mother will worry about having ugly grandchildren.

Morgan loves Cal, but she is trying to talk herself out of the relationship because she thinks it will be settling. The truth? Choosing anyone but Cal would be settling. Cal is a great guy, and she wants to be with him.

Sometimes we talk ourselves out of our choices because we think that they look like they could be better. We think that we should have a different job because the one we have now doesn't pay very well. Never mind that we are living our dreams. We think that we should be dating a different person because the one we are with is not very glamorous. Never mind that they are the love of our lives. We think that we should choose a different option on the menu because we've had marinara sauce three times this week already. Never mind that marinara is our favorite.

We settle all the time, but not always for less. More often than not, what we are settling for is simply something other than what we really want.

six months

Today marks six months that i have been dating my boyfriend. No, it is not our "six month anniversary". Anniversary means the annual recurrence of a significant event. You can't have an anniversary until at least a year has gone by. And no, it is not our "monthiversary", because that is a stupid non-word, no matter what Urban Dictionary tells you.

"Overzealous". Even Urban Dictionary thinks you're dumb.

But six months isn't nothing. That's half a year. That's a whole summer and part of the fall. That's half of my first semester in grad school and half of his first semester as a teacher. That's him directing three shows and me taking on a real job. That's me meeting his family and both of us coming up with excuses to avoid my family. (Kidding. Sort of.) That's me teaching him to knit, him giving me something to write about, me introducing him to the deliciousness of dried apricots, him buying me absurd amounts of flowers. That's both of us moving into our own apartments and becoming real, (mostly) self-sufficient adults.

There's this kid who works in my office and has a crush on me. He is also in the fall musical, for which John is the musical director, so he knows us both. This kid (we'll call him Tad) will often chat/flirt with me while he does some tedious task like stuffing envelopes. Tad often asks questions about my relationship. Recently, he asked me if John makes me a better person. I said that he did. Tad asked how.

When i was younger, i used to sing all the time. In the shower, while reading, while driving, while cooking, while doing laundry, while doing homework. I'd walk around the house singing, or wander in the backyard singing. I sang constantly. But when i got older and left the house, i discovered that this was a weird thing to do. And then i went to college, and between the re-affirmation of the weirdness of that habit and the personal devastation of my parents' divorce, i lost the desire to sing.

Three and a half years went by. I sang when required, in chapel worship services, and occasionally i'd absentmindedly chime in to whatever was playing on my iPod. But by and large, the music was gone from my heart. I was kindly coerced into joining the worship team on my church (church people are really good at friendly coercion), but i sang out of obligation and guilt, not joy.

Then John came along and it was like the sun came out from behind a cloud.

I started singing again because the joy had been returned to my life. But when John told me again and again how much he loved to hear me sing, i began to sing for him.

I also rediscovered my silliness. From about the age of ten onward, i took myself very seriously. They say that those who will be young when they are old must be old when they are young, and when i was a child, i was often called an "old soul". Plus, you know how every group of friends always has an anchor, one rational person to keep things stable? That was me in high school. Being the oldest child and the most mature of my friends combined to make me believe that my stability was one of the best things i had to offer. When i started dating, boys would generally tell me (sometimes sincerely) that my steadiness and maturity were some of the things that had attracted them to me. (They probably didn't even notice that i had huge boobs. Teenaged boys are usually far more interested in serious, sincere girls than their shallow, goofy friends. The fact that i was a C cup when all of my friends were nearly As was just a coincidence.) And then there was the divorce, and i had to be a parent for my siblings, and then i was in college and had to achieve things there, and then i moved into my new apartment and had to be the "dad" all the time.

Except for the occasional sugar-high, therefore, i was serious pretty much all the time. And then i started dating John, and he is absolutely ridiculous. I could create a whole separate blog just to tell stories about John. Let's just say that, while it has been well-established that i can't be left unsupervised or taken out into public, John is no better. We sort of take turns being the other person's caretaker.

But that's the thing: he showed me that silliness does not necessarily equal immaturity or irresponsibility. You can be a fully-functional adult and still be carefree and goofy. I still pay my bills on time. I still go to work every day and am productive. I still complete my homework assignments, wash my dishes, and take care of my cat. I just do it while stubbornly taking a detour to walk in the dirt, or loudly singing nonsense ad-libbed songs, or wrestling John back into bed so i can have a few more minutes in his arms before he has to leave.

In so many ways, John has brought joy into my life. He has helped me rediscover parts of myself that i thought i'd put away for good. In the last six months, i have been happier, healthier, and more fulfilled than i can remember being at any point in the last eleven years. And if we break up tomorrow, i will still be a better person for having known him.

In only six months, he's made me a better person, and he's done so in a way that ensures that my self-improvement and growing happiness will continue long after he is gone (if we break up, which i'm certainly not anticipating at this point). And if, somewhere far down the road, we get married, i know that my life will continue to improve because of his presence in it. He hasn't changed me. He has made me more "me", a better and truer and more grounded version of myself.

Being with him is easy. And not easy in the sense that there's no work involved. It's easy the way that writing poetry is easy: even when i'm sweating blood because i've spent the last three days trying to fix the meter in one line, it never crosses my mind that this is difficult or boring. And even if i wanted to, i couldn't stop writing poetry. It's just something that i do, something that i can't imagine not having in my life. It's worth the effort, and even the toughest parts are euphorically enjoyable.

Here's to the next six months. And the six after that, and the six after that, and the six after that . . .

Marry Your Best Friend

Charles and i met for the first time when we were both still in diapers, but it wasn't until 4th or 5th grade that our friendship really began. We got off to a bit of a rocky start (when we were six, i punched him in the stomach and he cried, and then i told my four-year-old brother to headbutt him). And when we started spending more time together, in 4th and 5th grade, we were just entering the "opposite sex has cooties" stage of development. He spent a lot more time with my brother than with me, and i spent more time with his sister (who was a good three or four years younger than me) than with him.

After completing 5th grade, Agelseb left public school and began homeschooling with us. This is when she and Charles began to be friends. Their friendship was likewise hampered by the gender differences, but by about 7th grade we had all gotten over that. Coincidentally, it was about 7th grade that Charles discovered girls.

Being one of the few girls that Charles never developed a crush on, i ended up being his confidant for many years. He would go through ups and downs with various girls, sometimes liking five or six at once, and totally without hope that any of them would ever consent to be his girlfriend.

In high school, he went through a series of extremely short-lived relationships, including one that lasted less than 12 hours.

In high school, he also developed a crush on Agelseb.

Inconveniently, it was the year that she moved onto the boat. Even more inconveniently, she was only interested in him as a friend.

Charles' crush lived on, though it would wax and wane depending on whether some other girl had distracted him temporarily. We all remained friends, despite sundry awkwardnesses associated with hormones and emotions, and when i graduated from high school and took a year off, Agelseb and Charles grew closer than ever.

The summer after my freshman year, i lived at home again. Agelseb and Charles and i spent lots of time together that summer, but i was beginning to feel a pull from the World. I felt restless and unhappy in my hometown, and they did not share that feeling. We didn't fight about it or anything, but we all understood that i wouldn't be spending much time there in the future.

Two summers later, i was living on campus in Quincy and working a summer job. Agelseb visited a few times, and once she vented for nearly two hours about her frustrations with Charles. I was not the least bit surprised when she told me that she was in love with him. At the beginning of the fall semester, Charles came up to visit us, and a little clever managing on my part had them agreeing to date each other that very weekend.

Their relationship underwent some weird adjustments at that time. For example, we'd all been friends for years, and thought nothing of cuddling on a couch, or even sharing a bed if necessity dictated. Charles had shared Agelseb's bed at the beginning of the trip, but once they decided that they should date, he moved to the couch. As friends, it was totally normal to say "I love you", but once they started dating that stopped abruptly. Charles didn't want to say "I love you" until they'd been dating for at least six months.

However, they successfully navigated the roadblocks and maintained a tender and loving (and combative) relationship for two years before they broke up.

I don't yet know if they'll ever get back together. What i do know is that their friendship, while initially making dating awkward, enabled them to get through a lot of difficulties. It also made it easier for them to coexist after the breakup. They're at the same school right now, and neither of them really knows anyone else yet. For better or for worse, they're all they've got.

Love comes and goes. Friendship is forever.

The Beatles Lied To Us

Love is not all you need.

I've posted several times before about my ex, Casey. I won't say anything more about him here, because he's not a pleasant subject to dwell on, and because the point of this is not to dwell on him or on our relationship.

The point is that it was a bad relationship. He was bad for me, and i could have been good for him if he'd let me, but he wouldn't or couldn't (part of the reason he was bad for me: he wouldn't let me in). We made one another miserable. He didn't support me, i was bored by him, he didn't want to know anything about my life that made me more than highly educated arm candy, i felt superior to him, et cetera et cetera et cetera. For over a year, we both killed our souls in a toxic and bruising relationship with almost no positive benefits.

But we loved each other.

You see this pattern in literature, in pop culture, and in conversations with roommates. (I once had a roommate who, after a fight with her boyfriend, explained tearfully to her best friend that "We're just like that couple in The Notebook. We fight all the time, but we just love each other so much!") Conflict can be a sign of passion. It can also be a sign of deep incompatibility. It's bad if you never fight. It's also bad if you always fight. The fact that you make one another miserable is not a testament to your undying love and devotion. It does not mean that you have a connection that will transcend all obstacles of marriage to another person, or death, or the fact that one of you is a creature of the night that wants nothing more than to feed on your beloved. The fact that you make one another miserable is a testament to the fact that you are not well suited.

Love is great. Without it, life would not be worth living. And if you are not truly in love with someone, you should certainly not make a lifelong commitment to them. In fact, i'd hesistate to say that you should commit to them for more than a few months. Love is really really really really really important.

But it's not everything.

Feelings will come and go, but at the end of the day, you have to want to be in the same room with them. You have to want to hang out with them. You have to want to talk to them, to support them in their passions (even the ones you don't get), to introduce them to your loved ones. You have to like them.

There's a reason that everyone always tells you to marry your best friend. Romance comes and goes. Friendship is eternal. Fall in love with your best friend and you're all set.

I've been in love before. I spent a year pining hopelessly after one of my best friends. In the end, i saw that while we were good friends, and while i certainly loved him, we did not have the kind of relationship that would translate well to a marriage, or even dating. I also spent fourteen months breaking my heart over Casey. I loved him, and he loved me, but i didn't really like him very much. And i don't think he knew me well enough to like me at all.

Love is not all you need.

That's why (i can't believe i'm about to cite this) sites like match.com and eHarmony make you fill out personality profiles. In their commercials, they say that they match you up with people whose personalities are compatible with yours. That way, if you do fall in love, you can have confidence that it will work out.

It's not enough to be in love with someone. You have to be able to get along with them. You have to be compatible with them.

Love is great. The Beatles were great. But they were also on a lot of drugs. They probably didn't mean to lie to us. Either way, love is not all you need.

love languages

Quality time:
John and i spend a lot of quality time together. Recently, we were sitting on my couch while dinner cooked. We were each playing our own game on our own computer. We were not watching TV together, we were not playing a game together, we were not cuddling. We were not even talking. But we were together. We each knew that the other person was there, and it was enough to simply be together in that moment.

We also eat meals together. We go on walks together. We spend time with friends, we go to concerts and plays, we go to church, we sit and talk, we watch movies. Quality time is important to a relationship. Whether participating in a specific event or simply being in the same room while you each do your own thing, the act of occupying the same physical space is powerful and wonderful.

Physical Touch:
This isn't just sex. This is when John and i are driving somewhere and i reach over to run my fingers through his hair. This is when we're at lunch with friends and he touches my knee under the table. This is when we're watching a movie and i lean against him. This is when i roll over in my sleep and he rolls over too, because even asleep he wants to be near me.

This is a simple expression of emotional intimacy. Skin-on-skin contact speaks volumes, and while we still don't fully understand everything about touch communication, we know that it is important and instinctive.

Gifts:
This is more than materialism. This is about sentimentality, tangibility, and permanence. I save everything, even ticket stubs from shows that John has been involved with, because they are a tangible reminder of something special that we shared. Yes, big sparkly diamonds are nice, and they are certainly also a tangible expression of memories and affection, but a gift can be an expression of love even if it is only flowers that you picked from your mother's yard (and John has brought me such flowers twice). Spending a lot of money on someone really does make a statement about your perception of their worth. But so does spending a lot of time making something for them, or spending a lot of energy to find the perfect greeting card.

Gifts are important because you can keep them. Quality time passes by, physical touch is fleeting, words are forgotten and acts of kindness come to an end, but gifts can be preserved. I still have gifts from old boyfriends that i don't even talk to anymore, because they are tangible memories of significant relationships. The relationship may not be in my life anymore, but it was important once, and it is partially responsible for me becoming who i am today.

Acts of kindness:
A few weeks ago, i came home from work to find the kitchen in shambles. We had all been up late the night before and had not cleaned the kitchen before going to bed, and the evening was full of gym trips and social engagements for my roommates. That left me to clean the kitchen or to not eat dinner. Before anything could be cooked or eaten, the dishwasher needed to be emptied and the dishes put away, the dishes in the sink needed to be put in the dishwasher, and several things needed to be washed by hand. The counters needed to be wiped down, the trash needed to be taken out, the stove needed to be cleaned, and the floor needed to be swept and Swiffered.

As i began unloading the dishwasher, John began washing the dishes in the sink. He had not dirtied any of them. I had not asked him to help. I was complaining about the fact that my roommates hadn't done anything in the kitchen, but i was not dropping hints. But he helped me anyway, because i was tired and stressed and he wanted to make my life better.

Words of affirmation:
This one is the most important one to me, but everyone is different. I express myself most easily and understand others most clearly through words. This is why i write letters, this is why i ask questions, this is why it kills me that i don't have a word to express how i feel. There is far less ambiguity in words than in anything else. A touch on the arm could be affectionate or accidental. Helping me with the dishes could be an act of love or a desire to hurry up and get the kitchen clean already so i can make your dinner. A gift could be meaningless to you, whatever significance it has to me, and quality time could simply be killing time until something happens. But words are what they are.

I save text messages and post-it notes from John. This poem was written almost entirely from those texts, notes, and actual out-loud conversations. Words matter to me. Gifts are great. Spending time together is great. Doing nice things for one another is great. Physical affection is great (actually, physical affection with John is amazing). They say that actions speak louder than words. But words speak more clearly.

falling

he tells her that she's beautiful
and she ducks her head and smiles
she knows that he means it
but she can't quite believe it
she doesn't see it for herself

some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his skin on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love

the moon mimics her tonight
it smiles gently down
as it hides coyly behind
a cloud gliding by
and he gazes at the glow

some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his soul on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love

he hears music when he's around her
her smile is a melody
as days melt into weeks
all she can see is him
and all the things they've left unsaid can wait

some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his heart on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
there's not a real word for it
but it's real enough to her
she is falling
oh, she is falling
falling for him

Back to Basics

Due to a string of poor relationship decisions, my romance barometer is shot all to hell. I no longer have good standards for appropriate male behavior. If a guy can muster up the energy and interest to text me to cancel a date to 7-11 instead of just standing me up, i am blown away by his consideration and effort. (Okay, that's an exaggeration. But not by much.)

Consequently, when "John" entered my life, i was not at all certain how to handle him. He actually goes out of his way to see me. And by "out of his way", i mean, "He was two minutes away from my house, he knew i was home, and he didn't have anywhere to be immediately, so he stopped by to say hello." Now, to give him full credit, i didn't know he was in the area, so it was a surprise. But the more i reflected on it later, the more i realized that that's just the foundational, basic standard of behavior. That's what you do. When your lady friend is two minutes away from where you are doing nothing at all, you stop by.

He does other things too, like buying me tissues and soup when i am sick, making my bed after he leaves in the morning (i leave earlier than he does), and checking in with me periodically throughout the day. Again, nothing special. I'm trying very hard not to rate him higher than he deserves for performing basic social interactions correctly.

But though i may be vastly overrating how awesome he is, i can't help but feel that he performs these functions in special, above-par ways. For example, not only did he make my bed, he left notes in it. This note, left on top of the pillows, refers to an inside joke. Trust me, it's cute.

The next note, i found under the covers on his side of the bed when i went to bed.

See? It's things like this that make me think he's extra special. Sure, he's mostly just doing the foundational stuff, but he does it because he knows that it's the basic, foundational stuff, and he doesn't expect any extra recognition for it. He does the basic stuff in special ways, he does the special stuff in extraordinary ways, and he does it all in a very matter-of-fact way. Because that's what you do.

Plus he's super hot.

The Other Man

When i write romantic poetry, it is often inspired by whatever guy i have been foolish enough to let into my life recently. (I promise this is not a bitter, bitchy, Vagina Monologues-style rant. In fact, i can almost guarantee that you will say "Awwww!" at least once by the end. Just keep reading.) However, my poems are never directly about that guy.

For example, in this poem, i am talking about my ex (we'll call him Casey). Most of our relationship was long distance, so we texted a lot. So that was true. And i was living through a hot, humid summer. So that part was true. But all of that beautiful, romantic crap about the text messages tethering me to reality, and feeling at home in him? Yeah. Not true about Casey.

It's never really been true about anyone. I have a highly idealized "muse" who is featured prominently in a lot of my poetry. Some of my male romantic leads are a combination of the guy i'm actually with and this "Other Man". Some of them are just him (we'll call him T.O.M. for short). In fact, i even wrote a poem where i make a sort of oblique reference to T.O.M., saying that i wrote to him because i hadn't met him yet.

Sometimes, i thought that T.O.M. was "the one", some bizzare poetic presentiment of the person i was supposed to be waiting for. Sometimes, i thought i was setting my standards too high, mooning over someone who did not and never would exist. Sometimes, i just thought i was a good writer, and had created a fully-realized male romantic lead that any girl would fall for.

I would start to write a poem about a real moment that i had actually experienced with a flesh-and-blood man who was present in my life (humid day, feeling like i'm dissolving into the atmosphere, Casey texts me, and we're off!). But then, i would begin to add or change things, thinking that the moment would have been so much better if Casey had said this, or if i had felt that, or if these particular thoughts had been in my head at the moment. I embroider reality liberally. I am a poet, after all.

I'm not saying that he's T.O.M., but my latest crush (we'll call him John) has begun to inspire poetry. And so far, i have not felt the need to embroider a single second of it. Every moment spent with John is complete as is. And while i know that there are things still unsaid and moments yet to experience, i don't feel the need to overlay reality with what could and will be.

I'm not saying that John is T.O.M. It's too early to say anything like that. I am saying that he inspires me, and that poems about and moments with him feel complete. And that's got to mean something.

Where the Heart Is

Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue, a wonderful living side by side can grow, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky. 

-- Rainer Maria Rilke

The air wraps around my skin in a heavy, smothering embrace. I feel myself dissolving into the atmosphere – the sluggish humidity absorbing my flesh effortlessly. I float free and slow through the streets of this little town, invisible.

All that tethers me to reality is you.

Even from a distance, you have a hold on me. A tiny beep from my phone, and all of my disparate parts are re-collected in you. Everything that i am is held within everything that you are – from your virtual words on my screen to the realness of you, many miles away.

If not for you, i would become lost in the world, swirling into an oblivion of color and sound, melting into nature. But you are my rock. However far my imagination may take me, you always call me home again.

They say that home is where the heart is. I find my home within every word you speak, every glance that comes my way, every touch. I am at home in the curve of your arm, in the curve of your mouth, in your curving laughter. I am at home in your thoughts, in your quirks, in the miles between us. I am at home in your heart.

You say that your heart is mine. This, then, is love: i have learned to be at home in you, and in so doing, i have found myself at home in me.

Crush

It's all so new, and i find myself blushing as i speak his name. Blushing, as if i'm back in eighth grade. That was surely the last time i blushed over a boy.

A part of me wants to tell no one, to cherish this very new (yet very old) sensation for as long as i can. It's mine, mine and his, and i want to savor it.

Another part of me wants to tell everyone, to have the awkward pleasure of blushing and laughing and being teased as i whisper the things he said about me, about my beauty and warmth, about how he blushes around me.

I feel all twirly inside.