The longest moments of my life are the ones waiting on him to be here with me after a tiff. I know he is waiting too. If we both keep waiting the cows will come home, or hell will freeze over, as they say, kinda like my heart feels now, but then I laugh, because I know how much he loves me. It’s a pick axe right through the layers. I get up to go out to the work shed and find him.
Why do I laugh, how can complete ruin be rebuilt in seconds? Is it fickle, feeble, dramatic? No, hurting and healing is real, though today is easy, fortified by all his past investments in me rising up to save the day. We tease each other when we do right, that we get extra credit. My heart remains soft by being what we want, in the moments when we must choose one another, when it hurts, when it is undeserving, when there is no justice.
What we choose prevails, what we want, desires upon desires in a willful, demanding, self-serving struggle, so only to appease multiple desires. Serving the self is common nature, but it helps to practice more deliberate desires, like the ones that make us truly happy, rather than venting, or proving a point. Loving him makes me happy. Being a loving person makes me happy. I choose to love him first, before resolve, before performance, before expectations.
I don’t want moments passing without showing him he is loved. He is the most important and dearest person, my own beating heart. I don’t choose a heart of stone. He is more to me, worth far more than him or I, but us together are illuminated and the same. We pull the same strings, push the same buttons, make up new ones, defend and offend with the same strategies. No, I will not trade him in for these kinds of helpless sufferings.
Loving one another equally makes all the difference in happiness, no matter the quicksands of cycles and mistaken beliefs. If I wanted or asked something of him, I needed to be prepared to give something. I would go and understand him. I would tell him that I heard, that I understand.
I look over, he is already here, opening the bedroom door, peaking his head around the wall, and raising his gaze under playful brows silently pleading for peace. He’s all smiles, and I deliver a run of flirtatious pouts just until I get a sufficient amount of kisses and giggles, when the moments again seem lavish and translucent, barely grasping their cusp.