Non stop to London and I can’t sleep a wink. Maybe I’m not tired, maybe I’m not anxious.
watching movies to get tired, adjust my clothing to be cool. I’m going to be a exhausted mess during my 60 hours in the city. Always the whirlwind.
The guy I bumped into in Hoi an for two hours also turned up on my flight. We realized it over our quick coffee catchup this week. his first time to the US. Kind, sweet, distant and respectful. Perfect. The theme of my life continues, serendipity strikes again.
I scan my phone for photos of us that make me happy. I scan my phone for photos that make me sad. He is not the problem. I am my own problem. No one can make me happy but me. When I hop a plane I am reminded of what I gave up. When I’m with him I’m aware of how lucky I am. The things I struggle with are not deal breakers. The things I struggle with where my problems before now.
I’m anxious for him to crash into my sacred place. I’m afraid of what truths I will unawarely expose. This feels so heavy to me, and means so much to me that am able actually share the things that have been my rock with my new rock.
Like when Esther and Amel collided, it could have gone horribly un well. But ten fold with this. Paris for a week is a tease.
I left him a trail of notes. I of course left it to the last second and my delivery could have been sweeter. It’s the thought that counts, right?
I love him. I love him I love him I love him. The things I wrote about him from the beginning are clear. His quiet strength and sweet disposition. I love his sketches, his writing, the way he cooks. How he enjoys life. We sat in a meeting for a children’s homeless shelter together listening eagerly about volunteer opportunities. Just one of the things that we share passionately, and such a vital one as well.
He wrote a piece that I can’t even finish without sobbing. He wrote of my journey, but wrote of it in a way so truthful to the ups and downs of my heart. His astute attention humbles me. His elequency humbles me. His adoration humbles me.
It’s fair to say I struggle with whether or not I am matching him in thoughts and affection. I feel as though I am so lost in my own struggle of self that I forget to give him what he deserves.
Enter mindfulness in process…
i asked him at the beginning “how can you be so sure?”. I want to ask him that every day. Especially the days that I’m blue, or grumpy or selfish.
Thank goodness for word therapy.
.. and Paris therapy. A bientôt.
