It is not the intense adrenaline rush that makes me feel sick, it's not anxiety forcing me on bended knee or the mood and tone changes of my man that draws tears. Instead it's calm, it's safe and it's the perfect fit.
It's enjoying the simple moments of waking up to see your bodies are still intertwined, your hearts beat at a similar rate, your breath is nearly in-sync, it's noticing you lay as one complete unit, arms, legs locked in an unconscious link of perfection.
But still I wonder what if I'm the only one noticing?
It's him knowing my body like know other, caring about my pleasure, watching me, watch him.
It's a connection not merely for his fulfillment but to energize our connection.
It's enjoying breakfast and horrible coffee the next day and freezing time for a few minutes together before real life, hectic schedules and stressful responsibilities kick in.
This is mature love, the kind that doesn't matter if we end up together in eternal bliss because it's gentle, and kind. Heartache can't taint honest emotion.
It's being at peace with trusting, trying and learning if it doesn't last.
All revelations I wish I had years ago. Years ago, I was a late bloomer with emotional maturity. Call it my upbringing, my adoring dysfunctions and emotionless family that made me the woman I am today, call it sheer laziness to know my flaws and not proactively change them. To knowingly shut people out and hurt them before they hurt me. Until I broke free and found love's redemption.
Shown not to fear it.
It's unleashing the wrath of insults when insecurity takes hold, throwing daggers at him, he takes each one, flinching, bracing and allowing it to bounce off, never piercing deep enough to cause permanent damage. Forgiving, is what he is. Understanding to human behavior even if I'm not fully matured as others. Why does he forgive? It must be love. A magnetic pull that can't be blocked.
It feels good to be at peace knowing love has touched my life, and being at peace with him fading away.
But has it?
He swoops in prince charming too humble for a horse. His intension and will to be together can move mountains, if desired. He wants, so he sets out to lure me home, to feel electricity without the burn. When he goes... I'm empty once again. Its temporary bliss, it's a shot of my fix and only he has the formula for more.
When I rage and fight, am I just refusing to accept what is? Forcing someone to feel how I do or is he simply afraid to feel at all? Can my perfect man be uncomfortable with stability? Is it me? Am I not the one? What makes a man return year after year, if not to feel like he's coming home.
Effort and desire, are motions of ease. Love's redemption is tearing up thinking about him, joyful tears not weeps of fear or sorrow. Feeling grateful to know I'm capable of feeling and not the hardened shell too many have accused me of carrying over the years.
Even the best armors wear down over time. Mine just took the right weapon to tear it off. A man with an arsenal of character, something lacking in today's modern man. He gripped onto honesty, genuine sincerity and let his feelings control us, no resentments, no grudges, fearless and forgiving to a girl who fought this feeling for way too long. Let it be. Because it is. But.. again.. what if it's not for him?
My savior only sees his own path, it's one he chooses to walk alone. My nights will go dark, my heart will slow and my sights will look toward another to break free from the hold of this mature love, I turn my back to it as it has turned on me.