I am not the first person you have loved.
And you are not the first man I have smiled at with forever on my lips.
We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife.
We have both lived with flesh more scar tissue than skin.
What we have now came unannounced in the middle of the night, when we'd resigned ourselves to give up hoping love would ever come our way.
And I feel that's part of its miracle.
This is how we finish healing.
I will kiss you like forgiveness.
You will hold me like I'm hope.
Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book.
I will write lyrics about the blue in your eyes.
I will write novels to the scar on your chin.
I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe how it feels to have finally found you.

And I will not be afraid of your scars or rough edges.

I know there are times when  it's still hard to let me see you, in all of your cracked perfection.
But you will always know, that whether it's the days you burn more brilliant than the sun, or the nights you collapse into my lap, your soul filled with a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful life I have ever seen.
I will love you when you are just a foggy morning.
And I will love you when you're a hurricane.

Be my rock, and I will be your inspiration.
Be my balance, and I will be your support.
Be my wild, and I will be your calm.
Be my anchor, and I will be your wings.

You're the story I always wanted to tell.

You said you were afraid to lose me, and then you faced your fear and left.
Oh no please.
It's all my fault.
My fault for assuming your protestations of love were more than just air.
My fault for thinking you cared.
Let me take another step back.
Give you more room to be a coward.
It's funny how I never doubted that you loved me, never until this moment.
And I took it for granted that loving me would make you brave. Because I thought you saw the courage it took for me to love you too.
Because what is it to me if you love me, or miss me, or need me...  When you are doing nothing to be with me.
If you can't allow me to be the love of your life, then I will gladly be the loss of your life instead.
And on the day you find that you have everything, I hope you remember who loved you when you had nothing.

It was a beautiful dance.
With your sharp sword, and my unguarded soul.
You watched me bleed until I couldn't breathe.
Tripping over pieces of my heart in your haste to escape.
I'm sorry my love wasn't big enough, to stop trains, like in the cinemas.

You're like the calm after the storm. The steady, stalwart presence, of everything that's left unbroken and still standing. A beacon of hope and perseverance.
You are the peace after a long day. When no words are needed. When it's nothing in particular, but all of the little things piled up, and I just need to let a few tears fall. You are the lingering kiss on my forehead that brings back my smile.
A cat, lazy and stretching in the sun that shines through my window. Indolent and relaxed and so sure of himself, you can't help but reach down to stroke him. That's your smile. It moves me. 
You are funny, so effortlessly. Like the breathe taking moment of the sun slowly slipping behind the curve of the earth. I always want to go back and relive the moment of falling into the warmth of your laughter. 
If I were to attempt to capture your mind in a picture, it'd be a library. One so beautiful and detailed it could be in a castle. Filled with books of every shape and size, all of them are your stories, your truths, and I want to read them all. My fingers itching to trace the spines of the ones I already know by heart.
Your skin, I want to explore, the way my feet have explored this world. Leaving nothing untouched.
In my mind you are timeless strength and grace. In my mind are home.

You hold yourself back from me.
One carefully measured step.
I can feel it.
Even though you think I can't.
It scares me.
Please don't make me fight for you.

I think too much.
We both know it.
I over analyze it all.
But only I know how much that destroys me.

You think I need you too much.
I think you don't know that I'm what you need.
I tell myself it doesn't matter.
We have time.
You'll see.
But I feel it when you pull away.
And I wonder if you will take the time.

You pull away.
And I doubt you.
Then I hate myself.
It doesn't matter, we have time.
I repeat it till I believe it again.

You made your choice, and I'll move on. Trading one heartbreak for another.
Pain has such a beautiful edge when you're in love with someone who sees themselves as broken.
You were never going to tell me you loved me, and not for any of the romantic reasons I had in my head. Simply because I scare you.
And so you'll sink and settle into someone familiar, who's kiss isn't fireworks in your skin, but who's good enough to mostly kill the sting of loneliness.
You're scared and you're closing the door.
A city of bones, and not the first time I've cried in that airport.
Not the first time I've moved out of a heart I thought was a home.
I was happy in this harbor, and now I'm cut loose. Floating alone and confused.
The winds are whipping waves up.
But the harder they hit me, the less I seem to bruise.
Adrift, I had no idea you had become an anchor to me.
I'll pretend this doesn't hurt, and you'll pretend you don't care.
And we'll both pretend to move on.

I've built walls
A fortress, steep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship
Friendship causes pain.
I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries

You set fire to my skin while placing my heart at peace.
I see your value, even through your darkness. The darkness and light that fractures across your body in a beautiful mosaic. All of the pieces that hold you together and pull you a part and create a human I adore.
And so, I try to prove to you that someone can show you loyalty without even being asked, by holding a space for you until you choose to make it your own.
For you have taken my dreams and breathed life into them. Making them shine with the passion of an authenticity more bittersweet than any illusion could allow.
You honor me by unraveling your secrets in pieces and corners. And I will wait while you venture off path, and retrace steps, to heal yourself. You are still in progress—the transient phase between sleeping and awakening—and I  have no desire to rush your journey, because I accept all of you.
Because I understand that sometimes we have to be taught what love isn't, before we can see what love is.
For all of these reasons, plus more, I will not expect more than you can give and I will not attempt to change you.
Maybe one day you will see me, the girl with gleaming eyes and stardust dancing under my skin. The woman who could love you not only for who you are, but for what you can give me. Knowing that it’s not a matter of whether it will ever be enough—because in reality, there may never be a feeling of having enough time with a man who sets fire to her skin and her heart at peace, but a matter of daring to love you exactly as you are.

This isn’t about ultimatums—it’s about the reality that comes with loving me.

I don’t compete, nor do I come in as a savory consolation prize when what you really wanted remains just out of your grasp.
This isn’t to say that I plan on placing you under lock and key—because I don’t.

I don’t know what tomorrow’s sunrise will hold, and I remain unsure about where our journey will lead us and if that means we will someday choose to belong to each other.  But, what I do know more certain than anything, is that you have a choice to make one day: to either be with every woman in the world or to be with me.

I’m not meant to be one of many, and in truth you’ll never fully know the wonder of my world unless you choose to step into it with me. I’m not meant to be taken in small doses, in moderation, so as to not overdose and lose your bearings in a futile attempt to play it safe. Whether you see it or not, I’m the kind of woman that men spend their whole lives looking for. I’m the urban legend, the stuff of tales between fathers and sons, and the irony that the woman their mother told them to be wary of is the very same kind their father told them to find.

I know my worth,  although perfection is not a word that will ever be used to describe me, or my behavior. But I wasn’t put on this earth to be flawless, but to be so real that I could bring you to your knees with just a single look. I want you to feel me from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes. I want my energy to dance through you and send ripples through your muscles, reminding you that the only people that find magic are the ones who are crazy enough to believe it exists.

Perhaps you don’t see any of that though—and if that’s the case, then you should choose everyone else; anyone else but me.

The only man who deserves to share my bed and my life, is also the one who knows this. The one who loves me as much as I bother him, but who sees my value every day, regardless of what it might bring. I’m not going to convince you, or beg you, or wait for you,  or even chase you. All I am saying is that I’m not meant to be shared and the only way for you to really understand what life would be like by my side is to actually stand with me for a bit and see what way the wind blows when we come together.

Life is a riddle, and the punchline rarely makes sense.

Yet, whether you are in my arms or not, you’re still with me each evening. Too much has transpired between us, and in truth, I don’t think will ever be the same again. You changed my life—you came in and helped make it possible for me to fall in love with myself. My life is better because you are in it. Maybe it doesn’t add up that I’ve never questioned my place in your life, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered.

Just because I don’t ask for something, doesn’t mean I don’t want it.

Perhaps that is my problem all along; I never ask for anything from anyone. I never ask you to love me, or to only be with me. I never ask you to do anything—but one day it will be time for all that to change.

I think that you could have a perfectly wonderful life without me, and you could spend your nights with different women, sharing your bed and fantasies. Maybe there’d even come a day when you forget about me all together, and I become nothing more than a faded memory that brings a smile to your lips.

But wonderful doesn’t always mean worthwhile.

As much as I think you would be fine without me, I think you would be even better with me—I think both us would be better for it.

I think that sometimes, something special comes along and proves why every tear, every hardship, every challenge is worth it. To me, you’re that something special.

I’ll never pretend that you don’t mean anything to me, because I can no longer imagine being with anyone else. But I don’t know what the future holds or if someday I’ll have to do just that.

But I am here, in this shaking moment, and as terrified as I still am at having my life changed and broken—I am ready to be yours.

I’m ready to throw the dice and lay my heart on the table because there isn’t anywhere else I would rather be than with you.

So, you can have any woman in this beautiful world or you can have me. My heart, my life, and my body—all of me. No pressure though. For the man who truly sees me, this will be the easiest decision in the world. The thought of me kissing someone else other than him would be too much to take, and so whether he knew all the answers or not, the one thing that he would be sure of is that he couldn’t let me go.

And so maybe you will decide that I’m better off with someone other than you—but I’m kind of hoping you don’t.
In reality you could be with any woman in the world, but why choose that, when you could be the one who has me?

The shadow of what we had haunts me.
I remember  you,  and how you'd hold me.
Always keeping me safe.
Reminding me in all of the little ways,  that I was too naive to notice, that I was loved.
I ache to make you understand how sorry I am for breaking you.
For breaking us both.
I don't regret leaving.
I regret that it cost me you because I crave you in a million ways.
You don't need me,  you learned that lesson,  grew stronger.
But I still wish you could see in side my heart.
The memories I cherish,
The way I view you,
And the happiness I feel at being your friend.
If you only knew,  you'd never doubt yourself again.
It'd be an Irreplaceable gift.
Like the one you gave me.
Of being my first love.

Try as I may, I never seem  to learn.
My mistakes return to haunt me.
Reminders that I'm still not good enough.
They stand before me with judgement in their eyes:
"You're the reason no one stays. "
It hurts and angers me that I can't let them go.
They carry the faces of the ones I love.
The ones I've lost,  and who haven't left yet.
I know one day they will.
I only have so long to love them,  before they dissappear.
One day I'll be completely alone.
An island of my own making.
Will I even feel pain by then?
Will their words even ache my soul?
Their angry eyes,  able to shatter my heart?
Maybe I'll be a rock,  withstanding the ravages.
More than likely I'll be a puddle.
A fresh start is never possible when the past comes back at will.
Maybe one day I'll learn.
I know I'm not the only one,  who regrets the things they've done.
But sometimes,  it feels like it's only me,  who hates their face in the mirror.
I never became who I thought I'd be.
I'm still trying to love myself as unconditionally as everyone else.
Build me up and I fall apart.
This heaviness in my heart a constant companion.
Waiting to remind me,  that try as I may,  I never seem to learn.

Not all of my scars can be seen.

But close your eyes and you can feel them.

They pulse like rain under my skin.

Haunting my bones and all of the lovely corners of my memories.

I'm staring at a thousand little pieces, 

each one is needed.

How to make them whole again?

I no longer know if I am worth rebuilding this time.

Looking ahead, and all I see are lack luster efforts of starting over.

Walls are either falling a part or getting thicker.

How do I let go without losing myself?
My life lays smoldering in front of me,

leaving behind more scars for me to try and explain away.

A haunting ache that trails behind me always.

Not all of my scars can be seen.

Some pale in comparison to the big gaping holes that never heal.

But I know them all.

They pulse like rain under my skin.

An attempt to feel alive.

An attempt to feel.

A luxury I can no longer afford.

And still....

Not all of my scars can be seen.

I never counted the cost to myself,  of what it meant to stay.
Continuously trapping myself in a cycle of pain.
I was too busy trying to convince you I was worth staying around for.
I never stopped to wonder if you were worth it.

So willing to pay any cost,  no thought to my own needs.
I bought every word you read me with pleasure.
Begging for more,  not caring if the script was believable.
The result was that I got so caught up trying to save you,
That I lost myself.
Solid air.
I existed invisibly.
Eventually even you stopped noticing me.

And you didn't stay.
I sacrificed everything.
And then you broke the last of me as you walked away.
Now that I've swept up the last of the mess you made,
All I can see,
Is that you were never worth me.
I'm glad I didn't stay, waiting on a soul who was never here to begin with.

My checkered past has made me who I am. It has made me more interesting, possibly more appealing.
It has given me my unfathomable depths; full of mysteries that have yet to be fully revealed, even to myself.
So, I have no desire to take find a man who is flawless, who has no baggage, because I always want to know, what living have they done?
What have they experimented with?
What have they failed at?
What risks has their heart taken?
Instead, I know that I want someone who is messy, dirty and not at all perfect; someone who understands my wild impetuous gaze and who would never mind getting down and dirty with me.
So I simply ask any potential future to bring it; all that which is stained and imperfect.
Bring me deep scars and epic battle wounds.
I want his untold secrets, with enough baggage to fill a cab headed out west into the blazing setting sun. I dream  that his stories will keep us awake late into the  night—the meanderings of “Oh, I should have never….” and “I wish I had known…” while I am anchored against his side, his strong hand tracing the shadows of the burning fire against my bare hip next to his while we travel the darkened allies of his past together.
Bring me grit.
His most buried mistakes, especially those that he shakes his head in disbelief and still physically cringes at. I want to see not the man that most of the world sees, but the one whose good intentions are stitched together with hope, mistakes and maybe a little bit of glistening luck. I will believe in the part of him that questions life on a daily basis, but will still rise with the sun and try even harder tomorrow. I want to see the side of him that he’s put effort into hiding; into disguising as someone that actually walks the line.
Bring me a calloused heart and skepticism.
All of it; unlock that tightly woven chain and let it all out. His heartbreak and pain; tears falling, staining my skin, tasting of warm Jameson and a loss so deep it still leaves ripples upon the surface. Memories that bring him to his knees on the dusty road, and that faraway look when he drifts off to that other time…that other place…the one that is filled with the handfuls of things that he wished he had gotten to do, the sunrises he wished he had seen, and the kisses he wished he had taken advantage of.
Bring me honesty.
Truth is but a deception according to perception; instead I will ask him to drop the act and lay it down like he never has before. Misconceptions and fears don’t matter much to me, and neither does what may have come before this moment. I hope he has made a million bitter mistakes; I hope he’s been hurt and I hope he’s done the hurting. I hope he’s been so wild, he thought he’d never be tamed (because he probably won’t be).
I hope he danced along the edge one too many times, and I want to hear it all. Every crazy story, every mistake, every regret; because I too have a woven basket full of the “I wish it had been different,” but yet I will understand that every single thing that has happened on our separate journeys will have made us who we are in this moment, and I wouldn’t want to change a thing about it.
Bring me real.
Bad days, and long nights; his morning stubble against my soft skin, his strong confident hands, and the deep kisses that will make my knees weak. Life unscripted; unglorified. If he and I have been doing it right, we will have a collection of experiences and memories that make up the story of who we are. He and I may have pain, fears, even trepidation; the key to all of that will be the ability to have learned from where we have been so that we can determine where we want to go.
I don’t just want messy, and dirty, but the knowledge and intelligence to find the meaning in all of it. I want real; the ability to admit mistakes or to be able to say that there is no such thing, if we were able to learn from it. I want uncomfortable honesty that will make me shake down to my bones, because I’ve had enough skipping through shallow puddles to last a lifetime.
It’s ironic that the very parts of myself that I’ve gone to great lengths to disguise end up being the very same qualities that others fall in love with. I am intense; crazy at times, complicated at others; honest and loyal to a fault. My bare feet are often dirty, my messy hair smelling like sunshine; dreaming far too much, and speaking from my heart probably more than I should.
I’m about as messy and imperfect as they come.
So bring it. All of it.
All I will ask of him is to bring me his messy, dirty imperfections; his scraped knuckles and his good intentions.
To just bring it.

They warn that you can't make people into home, but when you put your arms around me I swear you're the 4 walls meant to keep me safe.

I doubt a kiss can predict the future, but if our lips should meet I'm sure I'll taste the next chapter of my life.

I know that people aren't medicine, but when we talk, I can forget I'm sick.

I've been warned not to write of a new love, but when my pen touches this book, my words find a way out as though they've been imprisoned.

I don't know if I believe in soul mates, but I have faith my head will rest comfortably on your chest.

After all the time I spent dancing out of tune with another heart, it's you who will help me find the rhythm again.

And I should tell you.... I should.

When I say I miss you, what I mean is that everything reminds me of you.
Wood. Tea. Cars. Water. Dogs. Books. Spoons. Cushions. Socks. Rain. Toast. Wind chimes. Children. Everything has a connection to you. The way you might feel about something, how you might look at something, what you might say to someone... You are everywhere. As if my mind was not consumed enough by you, your essence is everywhere outside of me too. When I say I miss you, what I mean is, I stare.
I catch myself after a minute or two and am never quite sure what I was thinking about. But I know it was you. Maybe it wasn’t even a thought. Just a feeling.
I look forward to your eyes seeing mine. Clear, easy love with none of the torturous thoughts that once barraged my mind. I look forward to me not caring about the negative, harmful things I have cared so much about. And I look forward to being able to love you, just as you are, with all of me. No hiding, no denying, no judgement, no fear. I look forward to us.
When I say “I love you,” I mean I trust you. I respect you. I admire you. I adore you. When I say “I love you,” I mean my life is better with you in it. I’m a better woman because of you. And the more I come to know you, the more I want to know. I miss you when you’re not around. I’m grateful for every moment we’re together.
When I say “I love you,” I mean I want to be the one you turn to when you’re hurting. I want to be the one who listens. I want to hold you in my arms. I want to take care of you. I want to give you something to stand on in this crazy, constantly changing world.
I want to wake up next to you in the morning. I want you beside me when I close my eyes at night. In a universe of infinite possibilities, on a planet of seven billion human beings, I want only you.
I love you. And not a day goes by that I don’t tell you.
But the silent poetry that throbs in my chest cannot be uttered in three little words—or 3,000 for that matter. Whenever I try to describe the way I feel for you, every word seems trite and hollow; the whole English language insufficient. Because how do I explain a feeling that encompasses every piece of me?

I'm awake.
And alive.
And I don't know what I'm seeing.
All of a sudden my dreams seem perpendicular. 
The world can't hold me in.
You have a dark edge that calls to the predator in me.
Maybe I'll let it consume me. 
Revel in it.
Or walk that fine glittering line that defines the darkness and the light.
My imagination tires of wandering the world for my amusement. 
I'll paint my eyes in shining golds.
All the better to catch the sun with.
Make her whisper all the secrets that lay within her folds.
Then scatter them like ashes on the wind.
Laugh in the face of her tears.
Because I can.
Because it gives me a false sense of power,
and falling through the floor feels so much better when it hurts the most.
I could give myself to you, inspire my imagination for a night.
But it's so cliche.
I'm so much more mysterious when I walk alone. 
I can pretend that you can't read me like sheet music played down my spine.

"So I will hum alone, too far from you.


All that I say now is nothing to you.


We will lie under different stars.


I am where I am and you're where you are, you're where you are."
  
Different Stars -Trespassers William

Do you think you could like the silly things about me? The things that make me a failing portrayal of the Lady I aim to be?
The way my hair curls and frizzes and becomes a tangled nest by morning's arrival?
How I lay in bed each morning, stretching like a cat in the sun, until I'm awake enough to get up for coffee?
The scars and tattoos, cutting in and out of my body, describing my life?
How about when I'm book hungover?
Or when the urge to discuss a medical journal is bursting out of me? (Would you fall in love with way my eyes light up and I talk too fast while I'm desperately trying to learn and explain it all?)
Would you think of me as a flame or a hurricane?
Would you love  how my house stays cold so we can cuddle under the myriads of blankets?
If I asked you to build a doll house with me, would you be thrilled or annoyed? Would you love that time we spent together, or would it be a placation?
Would my love of hiking, pink, nature, sweet tea, writing, learning, animals, cleaning, singing, flowers, and making love, be too much of a contradiction for you to want to stay?
Or would these little silly things be what makes me matter?

I'm just a silly little bit of whimsy. Looking for a safe harbour.