submitting to love

he saw me when i came home early this morning and read my mood, knew not to ask what was wrong, knew i didn’t have words to describe the pain he could see on my face, knew i only wanted a shower and my bed and clean walls around my heart white-washed of gang-tagged graffiti. he came home this evening with flowers and asked if i’d eaten or if i wanted something to eat and when i said i hadn’t eaten and claimed i didn’t want to eat, he made himself dinner, something he knew i’d nibble off his plate, which i did. he didn’t ask me if i wanted a hug; he reached out and held me until i exhaled the breath i’d been holding all day. he didn’t ask me why or how long i cried today after noticing my puffy eyes; he brought me a cold compress and told me to lie on the couch. he asked if i had plans tonight and when i answered no, he told me he was taking me to buy a new dress, even though i have two closets full of dresses, because he knows that a new dress cheers me up, and i need a boost to get out of this hole. from beneath the cold compress covering my eyes, i resisted his offer until he sat at my feet and started rubbing them. he knows that a foot rub melts my defenses. he knows that a foot rub eases me into submission to what’s good for me. he’s good for me. too good sometimes. which stirs up clouds of unworthiness and then a warm wind of gratitude because he loves me. this week i’ve felt at least partly unlovable, and knowing that, he’s loving me extra gently and generously today.


About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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