I Haven’t Written About You Yet, But That Doesn’t Mean The Love Isn’t Here

I’ve always written about relationships. I’ve written about how horribly it hurts to have your world turned upside by someone you once loved. I’ve written about the struggles of moving on and dating someone new. But I’ve never written anything exclusively about that new someone in my life. It’s easier to pour your heart about the pain, but it’s not as easy to articulate the feeling of being happy with someone.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been so afraid to write about you because writing about someone new means it’s real. It means your feelings are true. It means that it has the power to hurt you again.

It also means that for the first time, the meaning and purpose of my writing will change. I have always written as a release of the torture that I was harboring. When you’re going through a breakup or any other hardship in your life everyone is so quick to reach out to you. The “Let me know if you need anything!” or “I’m here for you!” texts come pouring in. But when push comes to shove, no one wants to hear your crying. No one is there when your face-first screaming into your pillow and pounding your fists on your mattress screaming “Why me!?”. In reality, you go through your pain on your own. And everyone needs their own way to deal with it. For me, it was writing.

But now I have so little to write about because the agony has slowly subsided. That overwhelming feeling of suffering that once sat on my shoulders has gone and I can literally feel myself walking lighter. I no longer feel that twitch in my fingers to sit at the computer and write until I can see through the tears in my eyes again. Instead I much prefer the quiet my mind now offers. I can finally allow my mind to wander again without worrying if it will drift back into the place that once held those horrific memories.

So what am I to write about now? Should I write about how you can make my day just by hearing your little laugh as you nuzzle your head into the ticklish spot between my neck and collarbone? Should I write about how you inspire me to do better and be more than I have ever been? Should I write about how afraid I am to lose you because I have never felt so equally secure and alive at the same time? Because now that I put it down on paper I can see how intense all of that sounds.

I think we are so afraid to share the joys in life that love can bring for fear that it makes them all too tangible. When we speak abstractly about love, about how we really think it should be, it stays some sort of dream that we all strive for. But when we begin to admit to ourselves that we may actually have that, it becomes something we can lose. And that may be scarier than the thought of never having it all.

So for now, I will acknowledge that this love is here. I will acknowledge that I am better than where I’ve been.

But I will not yet write about it.