I’m Not Here Unless

I thought about what kind of woman I might be to the man I love…

I wondered if my thoughts would drive him nuts, or if my pestering would feel too motherly.

I’d ask him to visit the doctors, but if he asked me to go, I’d come up with some awful medicine woman like excuse.

I’d place aromatherapy machines around, and figure out his favorite scents, the ones that make him feel most peaceful, or just help him sleep.

He’d tell me about some pain in his leg, arm, or back, and I’d turn our bedroom into a massage parlor until he felt better.

I’d want us to explore each other in every way possible, and do everything two bodies were capable of coming together to do, at whatever stage our lives and health allowed.

I’d want to experiment, learn, teach, make mistakes together, and individually, then take turns switching roles between encouragement and brutal honesty.

I’d probably knit him a hat but not expect him to wear it, and if he wanted to learn knitting, even if only for five minutes, I think watching him puzzle a pattern might turn me on and end the session.

I’d want to learn everything about him, and could find that invitation inside his heart would be knowing enough.

I’d want to play and make all sorts of things, like song lyrics, poetry, books, music, food, psychedelics, jokes, home movies, maybe even cars or airplanes, but mostly – a family.

I wonder if he’d get confused about what Benjamin Button stage I happen to be conversing from in any given season.

I don’t know if he’d be offended by my wanting to protect him, or hurt anyone hurtin’ him. But, if he let me, I’d shoot out vaginas and penises belonging to anyone who intentionally hurt his heart, then stage the fingerprints to exclude us.

I don’t know if gettin’ too intense about any one thing (or multiple things) would scare him, or if my emotions, especially my tears, would be considered a weakness. I wonder if he’ll think I care too much – about too much.

I’d like him to read to me, share his thoughts about any and everything, cause our thoughts and our hearts are so interconnected.

I’d like to read to him and be the reason he calls in sick, even if he never calls in sick.

I’d like us to grow together, and for our energies to be a place of peace for the other, a forever home we can rest within, confident it has already been paid for with our love.

I’m no saint, so if I get spit on, I might break something, but I’d never hit or abuse him.

I’d want to look into his eyes every day, hold his hands every night, and pray in gratitude for that days joys and pains.

I’d tell him never to give-up his dreams, and if he failed a hundred times, I’d slap him the hundred and first and tell him to try again.

I’d want to kiss him, especially in a car at the beach.

There’s so much more, but mostly, I’d want to share all of it with him.

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