You. in Phoenix

There are so many things about you, so many little things, that you are likely completely unaware of. Things you say and do that move me in ways, and for reasons, that you have no knowledge of. A million little stories I could tell.

My first husband actually took my shopping not long after we started dating and picked out an entire outfit for me, leading me from store to store in a mall until the entire ensemble was created to his specifications. Top, jeans, shoes, belt, etc. I felt like a doll. (I believe I’ve mentioned that little shopping trip to you.) Sperm donor liked me with as much skin showing as possible, regardless of how uncomfortable it generally made me. Husband number two said I didn’t “dress up” enough, which, to him, meant a slinky top and a short skirt with my knee-high “fuck me” boots and some thigh-high stockings.

None of this was actually for my benefit in any way. Did I like dressing up cute? Sure, why wouldn’t I? I like feeling cute, it’s nice to be noticed, admired… desired. But I always wanted to be noticed for something other than my body. Bodies have never mattered to me very much. They are only the vessel that holds the human inside. I have wished my entire life for someone to notice something about me other than my face/tits/legs/ass or how I dress or my weight. I wanted someone to see past those things. Or see those things and more.

No.

I wanted someone who wanted to look past those things. I wanted someone to notice how I think or how I write. I wanted someone to notice the million little things that make me who I am and I wanted them to want to put all those little things together into the incredible picture that is the whole of who and what I am. I wanted someone to see me like that. To see the adversities I’ve overcome, the battles I’ve both won and lost, to see that I fought hard and never quit, never gave up, and I never will. I wanted someone to see my strengths. To see my weaknesses and yet never use them against me.

Both husband one and two wouldn’t touch me, make love to me, even look at me naked. Number one didn’t make it far like that, only a few months, but number two… For four years, I felt like the most repulsive woman on the planet. I felt like the little weight I’d gained must be it, or maybe my aging, sagging body in general. Maybe the gray hairs or the wrinkles or the scars. Or maybe he just didn’t love me.

Sperm donor wanted too much, always too much, it was overwhelming. And I felt like a thing to be used, little better than a blow-up doll. I know now that a lot of that feeling was from within me, that I felt perhaps that’s all I was good for, but also that I didn’t love him and didn’t want him to love me. But I was scared and didn’t know how to break free, how to be on my own. I didn’t believe I could be on my own, that I could handle it, because for so many years he’d told me I couldn’t. That I needed him. I couldn’t survive without him. And I believed that. Yep.

But you. Oh, you.

It’s like you see all of me. For the first time, it feels like someone truly wants to know me. Not just fuck me or use me or abuse me or show me off as arm candy. It feels like you actually love all of the things that make up who I am. I’ve always been extremely empathic, feeling what others are feeling. I’ve felt what those other men wanted from me, how they felt about me, what they thought. Being around them was always chaotic in my mind, full of doubt, fear, and anger mixed in with love, or what I thought love was. It was like being on fire, burning to death slowly, until I finally burned up, burned out.

Being around you is like floating weightlessly in a clear, cool pond. Serene, comforting, safe, and free. It feels so free, and so effortless. Loving you just is. It is perfect love and perfect trust. Being with you is like being love itself, ascending to divinity.

You said to me that you like my style, on Saturday, as I finished dressing. A part of me that was dead woke up in that moment. The other men in my adult life tried so hard to make me into something they wanted me to be. They literally made fun of me, mocked me, ridiculed my fashion sense (or lack thereof). But you… you see me just as I am and the emotions that flow off of you are so loving and so powerful and so right. You like my style. Oh, love. I like your style. You likely didn’t even know how close I was to tears in that moment, how I trembled inside with the revelation that someone, finally, would see me as I am and not want me to be something else. I was finally free to be exactly me, whatever I choose to be in any given moment. I can wear those thigh-high stockings and those “fuck me” boots and feel sexy to the only person who matters, and I can also be all about that bohemian lifestyle and still feel sexy to the only person who matters. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to put on a show.

I have never been a part of such a positive feedback loop in my life. I have never felt so in sync with another person, so in touch, so aligned. I thought I was losing my mind. Can a person lose their mind in three and a half weeks? I started to type, “How is any of this possible?” but no. It doesn’t matter how, does it? Only that it is possible, obviously, because it’s happening, right? This is me now, and this is my life, and you are a part of it in ways I never imagined you could be. You are a part of me, forever entwined in every sense of my being.

You are the most beautiful thing about me.