unfolding in --

8 (I think) long months later

This is what I think healthy looks like:

You communicate.
“I’m a space and time person.”
“I know I’m getting there.”
I listen, I respect.
I communicate.
You listen, you respect.

I’ve never felt validated and respected as much as I have the longer I know you. After all this time, my patience, thoughts, and actions don’t feel like hard work or an obligation. I want to for you, even if I’m tired. Even if I’m having a bad day. I don’t feel alone, even when I’m not with you. I know you have my back.

Because of this, I can imagine how having a life with you as a partner would feel right, as though the day I met you we picked up where we left off even if we’d never met before. That’s how it felt the first day I knew you. But now besides knowing you also like Cowboy Bebop, I know that you never leave dishes in the sink. You set goals and you achieve them. You get up early to go to the grocery store. I can feel your need for me when you kiss me. You make me feel safe and secure, and not like I’m weak or stupid to be vulnerable. You encourage me to be my best self in so many ways while doing the same for yourself. You remind me to give myself grace when I need it. You talk to me and work with me instead of silence or anger.
I never had that before.

I think I sensed it sooner than perhaps I should have, but I’ve been cautious and slow. I’m usually one to rush through things I am passionate about, (for the dopamine and for my strongly goal-oriented personality, I presume). I didn’t consciously wade into this with caution, patience, and rationality. I didn’t mean to take my time. But I did, because every day that you’re in my life, I don’t notice the passing of time like I usually would in these matters. I’m just grateful for our interactions and the sharing of time, rather than the passivity and anxiety of knowing the hourglass is swiftly emptying. “I’m not getting any younger,” I used to say, not knowing that there’s a peace in focusing on what I have left, and not what I don’t have anymore. There’s peace in knowing that I don’t frame this in a way where I have an end-goal that can only be met with a romantic partner. There’s no pressure from a timeline of abstract objectives. I don’t want you to give me anything but who you are. We could have nothing and I’d still feel the same way.

I respect you, and I respect your time. That’s why I’m still here. I don’t know what tomorrow, next year, or the next several years will be like, but today I choose to keep being here for you. It is a choice that’s not very difficult at all to make, and in fact it doesn’t usually occur to me that I need to actively do it, like breathing.

I think in some ways I have more insight into these things than you do, and it’s natural I’d come to a conclusion about how I want the direction for this to take before you would. But I know you, and I trust you, and I believe you.

I didn’t want to write this because I’ll feel like an absolute fool if this doesn’t work out; progress and vulnerability feel so, so uncomfortable to me. But so far vulnerability has been very good to me. Let me be a fool if that means I nurtured the better parts of myself with experiences that I can’t always fully predict. I think it’s better. I also think you’d agree.

I think you’re swell. I appreciate you so much, and everything you do for me, and with me.