This isn’t a disclaimer, or even a plea, but simply the warm rush of truth from one hopeful heart to another.
I’ve been told that I am not an easy person to love, yet it’s impossible to not love me.
I only ask that if you’re going to love me, to do it slowly, like a summer rain. Start unhurriedly, so that I can feel each drop of intention land upon my bare shoulders, and delight in the way they trickle over my collarbone and in between my breasts.
And when it’s time, the slow summer rain will develop into a thunderstorm of the best kind; we both know that we’ve always loved the passion of a good, strong storm.
If you’re going to love me, know that neither of us will have anything to compare this to, so we will have to make it up as we go along—and it’s guaranteed we are both going to make mistakes.
Life didn’t prepare us for this.
If you’re going to love me, I ask that you accept my seeking the solitude of the moon. Even if you are laying breathing next to me, I’ll still feel the stars pull on my heart. But know that you will have given me plenty to come back to, so no matter how far I roam, I will always return.
If you’re going to love me, I ask that you be open to wander aimlessly with me, around, in between and over as much of this beautiful planet as we can—but mostly the paths less travelled, and the tiny beaches and villages that are harder to find but worth the effort. I ask that we follow our hearts, and see where they lead, whether it’s to a drive into the mountains for a day, or a café on the other side of the world.
Let’s just ramble around together and see what we can find.
I don’t know if this is love, or if it will be, but I know that it’s something that feels different than before. And even as I type these words on the screen, a voice inside is telling me that I do know exactly what this is—and maybe I’m not ready to listen, just yet.
It seems that once words are said, they become spoken contracts on our time and life.
I’ve never been loved by someone and still encouraged to be myself, to live a life that I love. I ask silently, in whispers, that if you’re going to love me at all, please love every part of me.
I am admittedly out of hand at times. I make bad decisions. I seem to gravitate toward breaking rules, and you may grow exasperated by me. Even in those moments, I ask that you still love me. If you’re going to love me, know that I don’t fight often, but it’s not because of apathy—I just believe that most things aren’t worth getting upset over.
If you’re going to love me, know that even though I can talk a blue streak, and words seem to spill by the gallons from my fingertips, I still crave silence. It’s not that you will have done something wrong, or that I don’t want you here. I simply want to be silent so I can hear everything that we haven’t yet said to one another.
If you’re going to love me, I ask that we wait around for each other only on occasion, but not always—just when the house is quiet and I have cooked up some sort of surprise to make your heart race.
But I want you to be in love with your life, and I want you to love that I am as well.
I don’t need you to wait for me, wondering why I am still out gallivanting at this late hour. I don’t need someone to question why I had a few drinks too many, or smoked just a little bit more—and when I come home barefoot and smelling like a bar, just let me collapse against you knowing that at the end of the night, I am exactly where I want to be.
If you’re going to love me, I ask that you sometimes pull me back into the nest of covers and blankets and give me a reason to skip work—I don’t want to be responsible all of the time. keep wanting me with the passion of the very first time, because I can guarantee that no matter how many times you walk through my front door, my first thought will be to get my hands on you. Give me just a little bit of recklessness so that my heart keeps beating to its own wild rhythm.
If you’re going to love me, I ask that you try to be brave. I can feel your fear flowing through your veins, and while I may hide it better than you, you’re the only one to have made my knees weak and hands shake.
I don’t know what this is, yet with more certainty than I’ve ever had before, I do know what we are to each other. We’re in a place of ripened honesty and long standing invitations to kiss the night away.
Perhaps it’s a love that we both had given up on finding, and maybe that is the best part.
Author: Kate Rose
Editor: Catherine Monkman
Photo: Mariana Amorim at Flickr