You’re Not Here

I crawl into bed and wrap myself in the blankets.

They’re all I have to keep me warm when you’re not here.

I roll onto your side of the bed and bury my face into the sheets.

The unwashed sheets.

They smell like you.

This side of the bed smells like you.

It smells like the you that just made love to me.

Your exhausted sweat turned calm and cool by the dark silence…

And nothing else but our bodies touching.

My heart pounds with so much love it’s profusely thrusting fresh blood into my veins faster than I can even breathe.

I fall asleep with the memory of that feeling.

It’s disturbing how peaceful this kind of adrenaline feels.

I slept on your side of the bed.

Because it smells like you.

And you’re not here.

Begging.

He LOOKED me in the eyes. And TEXT me.

“I love you”

I read his text. Turned my eyes directly back to his. Shook my head in amazement of the game he was playing.

And didn’t respond.

He knew I loved him. Without even having to ask.

He text, “I’m glad I came to see you”

I responded: “Stop.”

“I will always be happy to see you, but you will always leave.”

And. Then. I. Continued. To. Beg. Him.

And I think he knew I would never actually mean that I want things to be over.

Not now. Not ever. He knew it. And I knew it.

I guess every day I draw closer to believing that maybe someday, I really will be able to walk away.

And I feel like that is hope.

For me. For my one and only life. For my story.

I will. Someday. Be over this. This chapter of my life. This pain. This adventure. You.

And I will miss you entirely! And I know you’ll miss me too. Without even having to ask.

And I’ll remember you fondly. With a smile. And I’ll probably introduce you…

What do I call you? Who are you to me? Who were you? Who were we to each other?

A colleague? An aquantance? A lover? A best friend? A soul mate?

Who are you to me? Who am I to you? And what are we doing?

That’s all I’ve ever asked for. Is an answer to that question. And you won’t tell me.

And I just. Keep. Begging.

All of Her

She was a lover of neither men nor women…

But rather a lover of souls…

She loved, and loved deeply, each person whose soul had touched her…

Whether incredibly intensely, or ever so brief and gently…

She fell intimately in love with everyone who had lent or given a piece of themselves to her…

She yearned not for the physical touch of others…

But for the closeness of hearts that loved her in return…

She saw not bodies, and had no shallow, false image of beauty…

But instead, when she looked into others’ eyes…

Filled with wonder and brokenness…

She saw breathtakingly beautiful hearts and souls…

She still cared deeply for those who had hurt her the most…

Because she saw people deserving of second chances, and forgiveness, and love…

She saw not human beings…

But angels who might save her spirit…

Or her theirs…

And she loved…

She loved each of them…

With ALL of her…

Teen Mom

Y’all, I’m 28 years old…

This year, I will have a 13 year old…

28 – 13 = …

We can all do basic math…

I never talk about my teen pregnancy…

For the most part, I deliberately avoid the topic…

But for some reason, this year, going crazy thinking about ME having a 13 year old…

I’ve been reflecting a lot on where we started, how persistently hard I worked to give him everything in the world he would ever deserve…

I look back on how far we’ve come, all the travels and adventures we’ve experienced along the way…

Realizing how blessed I am for the endlessness of the one of a kind love I have for my first born son…

And knowing how absolutely, extremely, truly, incredibly amazing that kid is…

I, for the first time, thought about my teen pregnancy…

And was more proud of that than anything else I’ve ever done my entire life, or any other decision I’ve ever made…

Period.

I look at Isaiah…

And I couldn’t be more proud to be his Mom! 😍

All Over Again

She asked me if I knew you…

And a million memories flashed before my eyes, through my brain, squeezing my heart, and lighting a fire in my soul…

All over again.

And then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

And I couldn’t say that I knew you, and I couldn’t say that I didn’t.

So without actually answering the question which had obliterated my complacent numbness, I put it the vaguest way that I knew how:

“It’s been a long time.”

It has been a long time; it’s been too long, my friend.

How could I even pretend that I don’t know you when I know everything?

How your nipples are always hard, how you skin is soft all over, how you always, always wear shorts. You have scars all over. You miss your mom every second of every day. You said you wished I could’ve met her – she would’ve loved me – and I wish that too. You pissed fire once, and I had cheese nipples, and that memory always makes me laugh.

Laughter’s why I fell in love with you.

Remember the time we laughed so hard I peed a little? Which made us laugh even harder. You said that was the moment you fell in love with me.

You used to drink to much, but you would always make it home. Except the one time that you didn’t, and I found you. I don’t know how and that doesn’t matter, because I will always find you.

She asked me if I knew you.

And I missed you with every single ounce of me, and with every drop of pain from the first goodbye…

All over again.

You Are My Stars

I love you. I’ve never not loved you.
Since before my physical body ever touched yours.
Since before my heart fell so helplessly, unconditionally, and unhesitantly in love.
Since before our souls were timelessly and infinitely connected.
Since before I could have ever even imagined love, I loved you.
Since before God spoke the universe into existence, even then, my love, you were my stars.