When a woman loves a woman….
It is everything. Hands that can’t stay still and words that can’t stay in. It’s bitten fingernails, lost to the is she or isn’t she debate. It’s the millions of words that die by the delete button. Trying to come up with the perfect text. Something witty. Something forward but not desperate. It’s the uncertainty of the first date. Handshake or hug? Indoors or out? Casual or fancy? Dress or pants? Should you talk more or shut up. And then it’s back to handshake or hug? A peck on the cheeks or a full a blown kiss? It’s the quiet comfort of a love that’s returned. The softness of lust that is matched. It’s the certainty of a love that’s unmatched…
For all the women I have ‘loved’:
Growing older means realizing that I know nothing about love. When I have spare minutes and my brain is not otherwise caught thinking about work or my constantly burgeoning waist size, I wonder about you. I wonder what you think of me now. Now that it’s all done. I wonder if I loved you. If what we had is really love. Then I wonder what I really think love is. If I loved you right. If I was pretending. If you were faking it. If we really knew what we were doing. Do all the places we visited wonder why we don’t go by anymore? Is there a place where broken promises go to die?
Love is supposed to be this wonderful thing that sweeps you off your feet. The ground becomes a distant memory as you cascade from cloud to cloud. Everyone has something to say about love: the movies, the romance novels I am constantly reading, you. And I guess all these things have affected my view on the matter. I wonder where my parents went wrong. I think they must have loved each other at some point. Before there was endless fights and bitter silence, there must have been endless love letters and promising quietness. No? If you had told 21-year-old Dad and 20-year-old mum that there would come a time when they would never agree on anything, when every conversation would become an argument, would they have believed you? What if I end up like that? I wonder how much of their struggle has tainted my view on the whole thing.
I wonder how many views I have picked up along the way that I have come to believe to be the truth about love.
Is love enough? I don’t know. I know it wasn’t enough for us or else we would still be together. Or maybe, in the future we get back together? I don’t know. And it might be soon to tell.
I am grateful. That I met you. That we were a part of each other’s’ lives. For the butterflies and the smiles. For the lessons and the memories.
For the woman (women?) I will love:
I don’t know much about love. I am accepting that it may forever remain a mystery. I can’t promise you everything. I can only promise my respect and my honesty. Maybe somewhere along the way, we’ll find love. I hope it will be all it’s cracked out to be..