Bashful Love

While sitting there dreading, procrastinating my 2000-character draft, he came up behind me, hugging me and inquiring “You love me? How much?” What should have taken me no longer than 2 seconds, I uttered the words, “It depends on the day”. At that moment, I wanted to take it back, but why would you want to take back the truth? Though it seemed like word vomit, it was deep and straight from my heart even if it sounded harsh.

He looked at me, with his eyebrows tilted up and this face of curiosity, yet sadness. He walked to the kitchen as I continued to sit there pretending to write this paper, but really analyzing what had just happened. Date night was the plan that evening and I had been looking forward to it for over a week. I started my hair straightener because looking my best on date night gave me the sensation of feeling beautiful and in love. I stood there pressing the intense heated metal on my hair continuously until the steam coming off was dull.

All I could think about was what I had just said. In that 10 minutes before, my life was alive, large and filled with so much hope. Within seconds I felt it getting darker, smaller and filling with questions.

Love wasn’t something to be measured. It was bashful, scary, tender and complex.

I couldn’t help, but feel guilty. As if I told love that it was only deserved on different levels of each moment based upon circumstance. It wasn’t anything he did or I did. It just was. Yet here he is, every day, with only this small bedroom to share, our premature lives to combine and the aim of unconditional adoration. I decided I would do my best to break down these walls.

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