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February 27, 2015

To the Lover with a Slow Burn.

man walking silhouette snow

You are quiet, mysterious, challenging, withholding.

I can’t google all of your secrets.

You won’t answer all of my questions. There is no quick button to push revealing everything that I want to know about you. You don’t work that way. You’re not that easy.

And you are rare.

Knowing you is strange, frustrating, interesting, exciting.

Different. New.

Maybe you are just reticent, cautious. Maybe you’re drained. You’ve poured out all of your stories, your secrets. You bravely pulled that cord that most dare not touch. And you unravelled. You released the particular peculiar beautiful ugly mess of your insides. And you, every little bloody piece of you, was revealed, displayed, regarded, offered. And when all of those pieces were rejected, unchosen, passed over, you had the nearly impossible task to re-wind, re-ravel, to wrench each raw, wounded piece of your self back into its hiding place. And you had to build new hiding spaces to fit new pieces. Pieces you never wanted or expected.

And now those pieces are healing, renewing, blooming into something new, strong, brilliant, resilient. But the process is slow and sweet.

And you’re still so sore and so tired.

Or maybe you are simply just patient. A lost virtue. An art. And what’s more, maybe you remembered something that most of us have forgotten. That there is something unique and delicious in the waiting. In the short quiet spaces between the words and the longer spaces between the sentences, the pages. There are breaths to be taken there. There is life there.

Either way, however you got here, you are full of locked doors, and keys that can only be earned, unearthed slowly, patiently.

Eventually, we are all stripped bare. A bunch of swinging open doors. A ferocious hungry fire, freed, unleashed, burning hot.

But not you. Not yet. You are cool. You are a slow soft strip tease, increasing your temperature, and mine, one slight single rising degree at a time. One article of clothing, loosened. Click. One question, answered. Click. One laugh, unhinged. Click. One smile, ignited. Click. Inching us, warming us closer to that one key. That one single key to that one locked door.

And then, another. We’ll start again. And again.

You are a maze. Those that dare try to know you may never find the way in. Or out. But they will find something old and new, something forgotten, something spectacular in the searching, the waiting, the wandering. They will find those lost spaces and places that lead to nowhere and everywhere.

 

~ Your grateful guest

 

 

Relephant read: 

Let Love in Slowly. 

 

 

 

Author: Jenny Spitzer 

Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: seyed mostafa zamani at Flickr 

 

 

 

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