This Is What It Means To Love Me

Loving me is learning patience to handle my sunsets, the aftermath of its beauty.

It’s having the patience to endure my silent treatments without abandonment because sometimes I don’t know how to put aside my pride and apologize. It’s stubborn nights and my fistful of anger I haven’t learned how to fully let go of. It’s my outbursts of sadness that are misconstrued for stuck up or arrogant.

It’s blue when all you see is red…and it’s the words I wish I could take back that are said.

Laughing at the wrong times, and too many curse words. It’s anxiety and paranoia of all those moments I put my trust into someone only to watch it shatter.

But loving me is also watching the sunrise, so tastefully with every color waiting to blossom.

It’s listening ears when all you need is a friend. It’s loyalty and support when the world beats you down to the dirt and no one else cares to stand by you. It’s acceptance regardless of your flaws because I’m too grown to change anyone. It’s abandonment of selfishness when you feel you have no more to give.

What’s mine is yours. What’s mine is ours.

It’s a heart that would hurt to hurt you. It’s easing your mind when the others have played with it as if you were a jigsaw puzzle. It’s calm days as I grab you closer to cuddle you in ways that scream affection words can’t put emphasis on. How about those spontaneous nights I draw out the daredevil in you, just to make this life worth a little something.

Loving me is fire beneath the water. It’s not easy, but it’s authentic and real. It’s the mix of a season and you don’t fully appreciate the summer without a little frostbite.