Do You Think You're Better Off Alone? Talk to Me.

You know those moments that feel super important? I think I just had one. And it's nothing that we don't all know by now. Isn't it strange how when you have these shattering epiphanies that you think to yourself "well, duh?"

So anyway, the moment was that I have what I need. I am strong and smart and capable and successful and relatively happy. I'd like to have a person, but if I don't that's okay too. I'm a whole ass person and I like me pretty well. I knew all of these things.

I realized what I need in that person. Oddly, it's precisely what my couple's therapist, when she was trying to help me save my failing marriage, knew all along. That's epiphany number two. Sometimes writing isn't fun or pleasant. But growth is the same.

I realized what I need is safety. I need to feel safe. And I don't mean I need to feel physically safe. I mostly have that handled. Not perfectly all the time, but mostly. I've learned to trust my instincts about who is physically safe. And there's no way to ensure that anyway. But, I can look carefully and hard for the kind of safety I mean. I need to feel emotionally and mentally and psychologically safe.

And I realize why I loved Jay so deeply. He made me feel safe and fully accepted. I think I've had one night of sleep to rival the countless ones I had on those blood red sheets with his right arm wrapped around me, while I slept on his left. The reason I watched his every move and looked to him for cues and spent my days working so hard to give him what he gave me. Spoiler: I obviously failed. So maybe all this is me trying to save myself. 

I put out that picture of him. Of us. I never think of it as "us" because I'm still here and I look at myself every damn day. I see him, but in a way that's both of us somehow for that exact same reason. He is so ingrained in who I am that I can't separate the two of us anymore. He lives in me. Another talk I've had lately: the way we keep them alive is in us.

I thank God for Kat. She snapped this photo at his 30th birthday party. I was sitting in a chair and he leaned down to kiss me. It was this moment of joy. I remember thinking I had to fix my face so he wouldn't kiss my teeth. I can't remember if someone said something funny or if were just that in love, but Kat swooped in and and I heard the camera click and we both looked over. I don't know if our lips ever met that time. It was a moment that I'm sure happened a thousand times, but never with a photo and never without a kiss. She was always so much more talented than her pretty and uninteresting partner who had the confidence of a mediocre white man.

That photo made me shy of 22. Three days shy of 22 is when my whole world, uh, well, what did it do? One of the few times that I reach for the words and reach and reach and reach. And still can't catch them.

Look at all that collagen. Look at that soft jawline. Look at those stupid thick eyelashes and why was my hair always so straight? I still have a scar from that forward helix. I think I still may have a flat and a conch. Never want to do an industrial again. I'd never had my nose or lip pierced.

He'd just turned 30. We only got 30 years. He'd have been sneaking up on 47 today. You can't see his ears. He wore 0 gauge or 00. I don't remember.

He wasn't a good-looking man. He had no chin. His right lower front tooth was broken out, I kid you not, doing Poi. It was a badly-fit bridge. That scar in his left eyebrow was from a piecing that migrated all the way out. He had chicken lips. His eyes were "just brown" and not at all that. He was short. He was totally gorgeous naked though. A short man looks better naked. His nose was too big. His teeth were not great. His tattoos were awful. I never loved that man because of how he looked. I don't think I ever fell in love with anyone who'd have been model material. I fall all the way in love with a soul. I can love anyone with a soul. I think that's why I fall a little in love with any musician I see play live.

He did this thing where he looked at me like I was some sort of wonder. The man really loved women. I know that seems like nothing to consider. Men love women. But they don't, really. They fuck women. They don't love them. A man who loves women is basically a unicorn. It doesn't really exist. It never really has. So to see it feels like magic.

I think he tried to look for reasons to tear that apart too. And he couldn't find a single one. Like he couldn't believe that I simply adored him. I adored the way he cupped my jaw in his hand and the way he slid his hand up the back of my skull and the way he'd slip his hand under my arm and entwine his fingers with mine. I'd like to say I miss it, but in this moment, all I have is gratitude that I got to experience and enjoy it.

His hair. I always loved a head of thick, straight, dark hair. His was perfect. It was this radiant ripple that always fell perfectly. There was so much of it. I'd forgotten until recently how much I loved touching a good head of hair.

Without giving too much away, I've surprised myself lately with my own vulnerability. About the time you think there are no more flowers, someone loves the leaves. The whole plant needs tending.