I’ve drifted through a lot of my relationships believing that I was there to teach someone that they can be loved unconditionally, even if they weren’t doing the same for me. I would stay agreeable until we parted ways as I so desperately held onto the hope that one day someone would pull me out of hiding and love me the same. The truth is, though, that I spent all of that time waiting and hoping when I really needed to allow it myself.
I’m Done Waiting
I waited, well over the 96 seconds I said it would take for me to get home before I sent the first text.
The truth is, had you not told me to tell you that I got home safely, I might have talked myself out of it.
That was the first time you said the perfect thing at the perfect time but I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve opened your mouth since.
The morning after the first night we slept together, I woke to a good morning that smelled like tequila and sex, sounded sweet but hoarse as if the honey crystalized on his tongue on the way out, and felt like a gentle kiss on the back and safety wrapped around my waist.
I knew it then but I waited about six more weeks, until you cracked first, before I admitted that I love you.
In the first card I ever gave you, Christmas, I told you I was waiting for the second one before I got mushy.
Last night I thought of losing you as a strange pang of jealousy surfaced.
I’m a big girl and not even a good run could leave me as out of breath as I woke up, wanting you next to me.
Never again will I wait to tell you that I love you, even though I mean that I love you so deeply that it scares me half to death.
I won’t set my phone down after I type out a message, pausing before I hit send because I’m worried you’ll think I was waiting for your text.
Do you know you excited I get for your attention? You should.
I’m done holding back my feelings until next time in an attempt to buy myself a little bit longer to ensure I’m safe with you.
Maybe, in the end, I’ll get hurt. All of this safeguarding, that must be my fear.
The scary part in believing that anything is possible is that I also account for the possibility of disaster.
What if, in the end, everything works out with more laughter and warmth than I thought possible?
What if love is being scared half to death but being willing to take the leap of faith, risk looking stupid, for the chance at having what you’ve always wanted?
I’ve spent years, waiting for what would finally strip me of my ego.
I don’t know how you do it but you make me want to drop it, haphazardly on the ground, alongside our clothes the moment we’re in the door.
Never again will I foolishly think that love can wait.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 