I used to believe in fairy tales—the kind of grand, sweeping love that would save me from myself.
Then, I believed that love had to be hard and painful, with constant conflict in order to force me to grow.
Now, I believe that the best love is cultivated from friendship—within my own heart, first, and then with you, handsome.
Laughter, ease, fun, talking about everything and anything, not trying so hard: this all adds up to a gentle kind of harmony we see in nature—when the sun and water nourish a tender seedling, and before we know it, something bright and beautiful blooms.
I see you and me driving faraway together—not into a perfectly curated sunset.
Into raw and natural blue waters where we find whole, smooth shells as well as slightly broken ones too—and love them all the same.
We run barefoot down moody beaches and when I complain about the wind rushing loudly in my ears, you are kind. You slow down so I can catch my breath. And then you cheer me on. I love cheering you on, too.
Because that’s what we do: we encourage each other.
We are already whole, imperfect, and shining.
Our lives are full of awesome sh*t: friends and work that mean the world to us.
So I do not look to you to fill the empty spaces inside my heart, for I humbly know I must look to myself for that first.
I still savor time alone to write and breathe, talk with witchy women I adore, and drive deep into the mountains where I gasp in awe at nature and just…feel.
You get how much I need that.
You’re far more extroverted than me—you enjoy time to be with friends, do a tough hike, and drink a couple of beers outside.
I get how much you need that.
So for once, this love is not the answer to a problem, it is not a cure to loneliness, struggle, or the inherent ups and downs of life. I know it will not save me from the sting of my wounds that sometimes still linger—it’s my responsibility to keep tending to them.
But it sure is nice knowing that you’re by my side. It’s absolutely delightful feeling your soul next to mine.
This love is sweet in itself.
It’s what happens when two givers get together.
It is beautiful. There is balance—a flowing, natural give-and-take.
You add joy to my life, you support my wildest and most far-fetched dreams, you protect me, and tinge my days with the color of your laughter and irreverent jokes.
You tell me I’m beautiful when my hair is crumpled and my cheeks are red and bumpy after I eat too much sugar.
I regularly remind you that you’re amazing after an exhausting day at work. Because I believe in you.
We shower each other with appreciation as often as possible.
And I make it clear that I don’t need you to mend me, but I’d like for you to love me, the way you do without even trying.
You’re a man who can actually handle a fiercely free-spirited woman like me—because you know you can’t own me.
You accept that I can be stubborn sometimes. You listen to my thoughts and opinions, even when we disagree. You give me room to dance and fly, to transform and daydream in sapphire pools of poetry. You believe in me.
My favorite thing of all is that you are so goddamn fun to be around.
And I haven’t met anyone else who can withstand my grungy 90s rock playlists.