I don’t know how to not love him.
Since night one, when we met for what we both thought would be a summertime fling.
Neither of us were looking for anything serious.
I sat down at the bar with shaky hands and a closed heart.
Instantly realizing I was in trouble.
The pull was undeniable and irresistible.
Moving from casual to I can’t get enough of you in a matter of seconds.
My guarded and wounded heart instantly opened to him.
Welcoming him to a space no other man had been before.
Allowing my independent spirit to be held.
And feel safe.
Letting the wall of resistance fall.
He sees me in a way the rest of the world doesn’t.
Loving my quirks.
And making fun, too.
He knows the strong, successful, wildly capable woman that I am.
And he adores that.
But, unlike the rest of the world, he knows I need to lean in sometimes.
His strong shoulders let me rest, supporting the extra weight, without ever making me feel less than.
I’m me when I’m with him.
Because I feel safe to be.
Knowing he can hold my wild heart, big blue eyes, and deep emotions.
Our love story is long-winded.
It’s awakened parts of me I didn’t even know were hiding.
Some chapters rival the very best romance novel.
Others hold wounded memories.
I’ve jumped on the bed with him till two in the morning with the most genuine laughter my body has ever felt.
The kind you feel deep in your bones.
And a lightness in your spirit.
Begging to live in that moment forever.
I’ve also cried those deep soul tears.
Shivering from head to toe.
Frustrated and exhausted from fighting for our love when life delivered one curveball after the other.
They say comfort keeps you stagnant, but we’ve held each other through big life wins and unexplainable loss.
It’s demanded we have the tough conversations.
We reach for the other when the world gets too loud.
Collapsing as naturally as one can.
I know his heart as deeply as I know my own.
Every scarred, broken, and beautiful piece.
And I love every part of it so deeply I can’t find the bottom.
They say great love is like coming home.
Loving him feels like living.
And full of hope.
I don’t know how to not love this man.
I’ve dated men who follow the textbook.
Even loved them in their own way.
They show up with flowers and too many words of affirmation.
Delivering the fairy tale.
And I’m bored.
These men don’t know how to hold me.
I’m fire and glitter.
And everything in between.
I believe to be alive means to connect to each emotion.
In our hearts.
In our loves.
In our lives.
While fairy tales make for beautiful storybooks, real life is unpredictable.
It’s full of heart-wrenching loss, deep wounds, and glorious redemption.
I need a love who can hold me just as tightly when my world sparkles as they do when it goes up in flames.
Because real love is falling and flying.
It’s trusting that the tides keep turning and not everything needs a deep, emotional resolution.
It’s knowing the best days come after the honeymoon stage.
And going to battle with someone who promises to hold your heart, when it’s kind and when it forgets to be, is far sexier than happily ever after will ever be.
Let yourself love as wildly and non-traditionally as your heart asks you to.
Forget what the world has to say about it.
After all, your love story is just that—yours.