Inbreath... outbreath. Inbreath.. outbreath. Inbreath-outbreath-shortinbreath. Sniffle. Inbreath... outbreath.
The sweetest thing I think I have ever heard was Shey telling me before she passed out tonight that she was sad because she felt like she impeded my ability to socialize effectively. Four hours later, I'm still awake and sipping a 10% alcohol by volume microbrew, listening to the city awaken outside, watching the light shift ever so slightly in the room, forcing the creme floorboards to swell and burst white all over the walls, up, up to the ceiling.
Just knowing that someone gives a shit about whether or not you're comfortable with your social situation, as it is when contrasted with your intimate situation, is a unique and humbling feeling. It makes you wonder if you're doing enough to make
them happy, and if you've been as generous with your emotions and considerations as they have. It makes you sit back and wonder at the last time someone probed that deeply into the nebula of your needs, aside from someone who was hoping to profit from it in some way.
But there she was, exhausted and sleep deprived, laying in my arms, and volunteering that she felt like she was standing in my way to having a good time when I was out at parties because she wasn't as much of a butterfly as me, or as interesed in flirting with other people as me. Not: "I don't want you to flirt with other people (etc) because I'm picky about who I like," or "you always ignore me when go to parties and run off to talk everyone else,", simply concerned that it was something that was stressing me out. In that moment, holding her and listening to her breathe deeper and slower, I realized that I felt nobody had ever loved me as selflessly as she had. She fell asleep while I laid awake, watching "The Adventures of Brisco County Jr". on some streaming website, and I sat and wondered about what a person could do with a feeling like that.
I don't know if I've ever felt completely loved before. I've
loved a lot, and I've been loved in return, but always with reservations about some part of who I am. I've been fetishized, flirted at, fucked, an infatuation, and obsessed about, but I can't really think of anyone who ever loved me down to the very core of my being, flaws and inconsistencies intact. Even when I was engaged, I was always worried about measuring up to some standard, or being discovered for what I was incapable of or unskilled at.
But this... this is something new.
Acceptance without cavaets? How will I know when I'm becoming a dissapointment?
Oh. If she accepts me completely for who I am, that means that she measures me by the same standards that I do. End result: I will know when I'm dissapointing her because I will already have failed myself. End logic train.
All that's left is to find a way to deserve a gift more rare than Solomon's wisdom or Ambrosia fallen from the heavens. The thing that is written about in the most ambitious of stories, always ending in tragedy for that which was hoped at, but never attained. True love?
Nah. Fucking pussies. And you were totally buying into it, too, what with all the sappy confessions and other nonsense.
I bet you thought I was going to talk about how much I loved her back, wanted to make her preggo with a bunch of babies, and a bunch of other gay crap too.
Faggots.
-Sean
