We don’t love people because they deserve it. We love people because we deserve it.
Because this feeling is a healing one. It’s joyful and ticklish and inspiring and uplifting. We all deserve to feel that way some time. It can feel like hurt & pain, especially if like me, you’ve received wounds early in your life that should not have been. Still, I am just glad to be able to experience this as it can be, even if I come to it late in my life. I’m even grateful for how it is, with no hope or intimacy or reciprocation. Maybe that is all my heart and my body can handle right now. They can still feel the sunshine warmth & the easy breathing air that love is, from a distance & alone.
Does he deserve it? No but what man does? I have only known men to be violent, reckless creatures who treat desire as a pathway to ownership and affection as a maze of entrapment. He does not even hear because he doesn’t know how to listen. To his own self, least of all. And in this I grieve because he cannot know the lessons I am finding every day. And I cannot do anything about it. I also grieve for the time when I will outgrow this lesson and maybe he will then realise but it will be too late for me and I will have moved on. I grieve for the future distance only he will feel. And that is love too.
He thinks I seek to own him. Maybe I do. He believes this is about lust. And maybe that’s true too. Yet, each day in these uncomfortable realisations, I find parts of myself that lie rocky and I have a chance to love them to tenderness. Because love unexpressed has nowhere else to go. And I will not now let that turn into bitterness.
I have seen now how they’re wrong when they call emotions weak. How can they be when I’ve struggled to heal for years with the allopathic treatments of shopping therapy, alcohol-binges with similarly broken friends & the down spiral of rebounds? I’ve never breathed this easy before, until I melted into my feelings. Love. That’s all. It heals & holds me. It shows me my depths and the sweetness at the end of it. There is all that he thinks there is and he has but cast a fleeting glance my way. He has not seen my depths. I have and they’re glorious.