I now know what it means to use my body. Maybe it’s my prayers that are working.
I like to think that it’s both.
I missed this…
I saw the way you were looking at me when we first talked that day. You were messed up inside, trying to figure everything out, and you kept looking down at the deep V-neck of my shirt.
God, you are so fucking sexy.
I could tell that you have been wanting me to touch you again. You tried getting me to touch you the day after we started talking again, and I was so confused, and still hurt, and I did want to, but I was scared you were going to hurt me again, or it wasn’t going to mean anything to you.
Say my name.
So, after I found out you were sexting the girl you swore you didn’t like (a lie) after we talked about not pursuing other people (a lie?), I was horrified, and glad that I didn’t at the time.
But, you said you were done with her, and I could tell that I had a grip on you – that you, at the very least, didn’t want to lose access to my body.
I can break that willpower – you think you can hold back while I do this to you?
So, I’ve been sleeping with you again. At first, it was weird. When we were together, we would tell each other, “I love you,” after we were finished. This seemed cold.
I’ll kiss you after you get me off.
But, then, you invited me to your family’s Thanksgiving dinner. I wasn’t nervous, because older people absolutely adore me (I just listen to them, and show them the respect they deserve), but I also wasn’t up to fielding any questions about the status of our relationship, either.
What I didn’t expect was that you’d introduce me to every single one of them. I didn’t expect you to introduce me at all – you rarely did while we were together. But, you made it a point to introduce me to everyone. You showed me that you listen, and that you can change.
Yesterday, you told me you loved me. You held me, and cuddled with me, and kissed me, and you told me you loved me. You laughed with me, and while we were in the backseat of my Dad’s car, you held my hand. You had stopped holding my hand while we were together. You showed me that you listen, and that you can change.
You told me that you like me more now, because you know me. I told you the same thing.
I’ve been hurt so much in my life. You’ve hurt me. And, sometimes, when I am alone, I remember everything you’ve said and done to me and I question my determination to win you back because it really fucking hurts. You betrayed my trust twice.
But, when you’re here, you’re finally honest with me. You’re finally ready to tell me that you don’t know if you want kids, even though you know that I do. You’re finally ready to tell me how you feel about marriage, even though you know it’s important to me. You’re finally ready to disagree with me and call me out on my shit, and I’m finally ready to stop taking those challenges as personal slights.
One glance at your dark, brilliant eyes, your close-cropped, tight brown curls, the closely shaved hair on the back of your neck that always gets messed up unless you’ve recently taken a shower, your lips that hold the very definition of a paradox in their firmness and softness, your skin’s perfect duality of Blackness and whiteness, your quarterback’s body, your radiant, terrifying, pure heart
and all I want is for us to surrender.
To say, “I love you,” as a promise, not as a statement of fact.
To fight for each other, in all ways.
To acknowledge the humanity in each other, offering grace in all things.
To commit ourselves to mental health.
To seize our futures and rid ourselves of the certainty idol.
But, above all, to only act out of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. To let faith, hope, and love be our cornerstones,
and to let love be the greatest.