confessions of being loved

confession: i received an email yesterday that i can’t read because the words are too tenderly loving. i’ve always wanted to hear and believe the words he wrote. the words make me cry before i can read half of them because they describe how i am loved, the way i’ve always longed to be loved, the way i’ve always been loved by him but never believed i could be. he apologized. he meant to tell me more than 20 years ago, but he didn’t know how to say it and i’m still not ready to hear it. sometimes being loved the way you’ve always wanted hurts as much as feeling unloved in an opposite pain.

confession: yesterday i came home to two dozen roses on my doorstep and a box of presents, delivered by my estranged wife. knowing that my actual birth date birthday ends in tears each year, more than a decade ago she created a make-up birthday for me three weeks after the calendar one. i didn’t want to open the presents. i didn’t want the roses. she and i are growing farther apart and i keep waiting for the year she won’t surprise me with flowers and presents on my make-up birthday she established because she loves me. i keep waiting for the pain of her absence, because over the last few years her presence feels merely like a delay of her absence. she is already gone, she just hasn’t left yet. or maybe that’s me. we’re lost to each other. we aren’t us anymore. we are her and me estranged, unreachable, in love and in pain.

confession: keeping my secrets, not telling anyone, not answering the phone or returning phone calls, not emailing or texting, closing my eyes and refusing to see, not letting the love in, refusing to receive the goodness that greets me, i am both blind and crazy.

confession: i write to understand and to be understood. i engage in intimate relationships in order to understand and to be understood. there are people in this world who know me, who see me, who understand me. i want the whole world to understand the needs and desires every single beating heart, because i believe that if we understood one another, we would compassionately create a loving world where we are all safe to be exactly who we are. i try my best to actualize this microcosmic utopia among the growing circle of my friends and we mostly succeed.


About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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One Response to confessions of being loved

  1. I love you. And I needed to read your confessions today more than ever before as my heart echos so many of these sentiments. Confession 1 brought tears to my eyes as I turn the final page on 1 chapter in my relationship book and begin a new one. I’m excited and afraid all at the same time as I still cannot fathom how someone could EVER love me or see me in that light. My scars have scars and my emotional damage runs deep; yet he sees the light in me – his words like medication to my bleeding heart.

    Thank you. For you.

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