20 November 2014


I can't find a first sentence. There's so much that I can't find right now. 

Rather than having concrete answers, statements, bold facts of confidence...all I have are questions. There has to be a reason why I gravitate towards men that cannot possibly function with me in a normal relationship. I am a dirty little secret. I am a sideshow. I am a hidden object. I am a "when I have time for you" option. Do I do this on purpose? Do I spend time with men who can't possibly make me a priority or want to for that matter because if they did, would I run away? There have been a couple of men who truly cared for me and would put me on a pedestal if I had let them. But I didn't let them. I cast of them out. I shunned them. One of them would actually coin the phrase "you're giving me the Heisman" because out my arm would stretch, keeping him at a distance where he could not get close to me. I will break the tackle every time.

I don't consider myself to be a complicated person. I'm not layered or complex. I'm not dramatic. But I am damaged. I carry with me scars that tell the stories of poor decisions and difficult outcomes. My scars hold the deposit that is the pain my heart has had to endure. The dividends are vast. I am scared. I am the quintessential "I touched a hot stove and I'm not touching it again" person who can't seem to try to love somebody without assuming that THIS person will do the same thing that caused that tremendous pain the last time. 

It's funny because in my mind I can imagine--even long for--such a perfect picture of what love should be. I have next to me a man that is patient and kind; he is independent, adventurous and outdoorsy. He is passionate and he's driven. He is incredibly intense and he takes my breath away with the slightest touch. Just his hand in mine can create enough energy to power a country. He can reach a depth in me that I am certain has never been reached before. He has awakened in me a hunger that is so foreign. It's raw. It's real. His passion is intoxicating and I think sometimes I will never get enough of it. Yet he knows my boundaries. He gives me space. He can measure the room I need and he accommodates seamlessly. He's athletic and a mover and he accepts everything about me--all my flaws, my quirky sense of humor, my irrational fears, my big dreams, my heart. He appreciates and even admires my drive; he endures my annoying habits, isn't afraid to put me in my place, and challenges me. He makes me want to be a better person. He makes me feel alive. He loves the Lord our God. He is my perfect.

But then again, he's not real. Well, he's real--just not in the way I need him to be. He's not mine for the taking. He's not my option. And I don't know how to come to terms with that. I don't want to come to terms with it. I know every single thing that's wrong with this equation.
But he is it. He is what I no longer have to imagine. He has materialized and I can touch him. I know his warmth. I know his smell. I know he's real. He's flesh and blood and he standing right in front of me. He is all those things. But I can't have him. 
It is incredibly painful and it is a pain that I have brought entirely on myself. Have I always known the outcome? I know only one way to solve this equation and let me be quite clear: I absolutely do not want to solve this equation because if I do, he's gone. He's no longer---what? What was he? What is he? Because he was never really mine to begin with. But my heart knows him, my heart has claimed him, and my heart does not soon forget. I will have to bear yet another scar. 
A scar I inflicted. 

I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to make it right. There are so many things I don't know and yet there is one thing that I know to be absolutely certain: I don't want to live without him. I don't want to let him go.

Is he the time that wasn't mine to borrow?