Question:  What did it take to bring you both together?


I wish I could say it was fate.  I wish I could say that all the forces of the universe had a meeting at an abnormally large round table to bring us together, but they obviously didn’t (you know what, for all I know, that might have been the case.  I don’t like to discuss matters of the heart with the forces of the universe, but I have a nagging feeling that they’re obsessed with me).  As far as I’m concerned though, fate had nothing to do with our decision to be together.

I’m not saying that there can’t be an argument made for the fate issue.  It’s true that we’ve both had histories.  Histories that are memorable, catastrophic, and everything in between.  Of course it’s true that we had to go through all of those experiences to get where we are now.  I like to call it the Omelette Phenomenon (You have to break a few eggs to yadda yadda).  I’m not going to talk about what he had to go through, he can do that when he’s ready.  I’m not going to talk about what I had to go through either…not yet anyway.

All of this is just a long-winded way of saying that the driving force behind us being together was vulnerability.  I fought it for so long.  Not just vulnerability, but everything, I refused to feel anything because I knew that once I opened that door, there was no way I could shut it again.  I could feel it inside of me though.  It raged and roared in its cage.  In a moment of weakness that I’ve never been able to justify, I opened the door, just a crack, and it felt like the activation of a seemingly dormant volcano.  I was bursting with every suppressed emotion I had spent years repressing.  I tried to mask it with humor, and it worked, at least until I met him.  He wasn’t having any of it.  I’m sure in another world, he would’ve left it alone.  However, in this tiny world of ours, I didn’t allow him the opportunity to feel the hurt I was feeling, so I stood next to him and I waited and I hugged him and I kissed him until he didn’t hurt anymore.  And then came my turn, he refused to hold back.  He grabbed a sledgehammer and tore down every single one of my walls until they were nothing but dust blowing away in an autumn wind, never to be seen or heard from ever again.

Growing up, I had covered up all signs of injury on my heart with cute, little band-aids.  It was barely beating by the time I met him, but my vulnerability got a mallet and completely shattered it.  It shattered my poor, defenseless heart and shoved me towards someone who was willing to get down on his hands and knees to pick up the shards.  He’s still doing it.  He’s bruising and bleeding all in an effort to repair me.

So I guess that’s my answer.  I wouldn’t have found the love of my life if I hadn’t let myself break in every way possible.


It took a world of pain, and years of both having and looking for the wrong things to find her. I had spent 4 years of my life split between two unhealthy relationships. I had become accustomed to it.  In fact, I expected it. Eventually, I realized that I’d had enough, and I wanted something different, so I began forcing things, in all aspects of my life. I began to take everything I could get, trying to make miracles out of mishaps. I probably wasn’t respecting myself nearly as much as I should have, but being in the state that I was in, it didn’t matter to me at the time. Rock bottom is a scary place, and I’ve found myself there 3 times.

The first time was during my freshman year at university. A combination of an unhealthy relationship, conflicting medications, not enough social interaction, and a lack of nutrition and sleep had me slowly losing my mind. The second time was immediately after my first breakup. I had spent so long having someone as the main source of my happiness, that I didn’t know how to function properly without them. I did all the wrong things to get to a better place, which led me to someone else who started off extremely important, but tore me apart even worse, leading to my third trip to the gloomy, hopeless place called rock bottom. It is worse than it seemed in that episode of Spongebob if you’re wondering.

I was officially broken as broken could be. I was drowning myself in negative people and past-times, and I eventually woke up and realized I needed to make a change. However, I didn’t have the energy to make this change on my own, so I wallowed a bit longer, mending my emotional wounds with what felt like cheap kindergarten glue, you know, the type everyone used to eat back in those golden early years. Oh, that was just me? Well… moving on!

Then she came along. There was obviously an attraction at first interaction, but she started off by being there for me, even though I was not ready to dump everything onto her. She would help me with little things, and eventually helped me get my education back on track which was instrumental to getting better. She’s a helper, and even if her ways aren’t conventional at times, she helps from a place of pure love, more than I’ve seen any other human emit from their mind, body and soul.

It wasn’t her beautiful smile, or her eyes, that could trap you if you stare too long, that brought us together. In the end, it was the fact that she was the opposite of everything I ever had, in the best way, and her ability to nurture. Most people nurture, but to the point where codependency sprouts from it. She nurtured me, and sent me off into the sky like a bird with it’s newly healed wing. Unlike most rehabilitated wild avian critters, I didn’t fly away. I want to enjoy myself, in every way, with her present. And for these reasons, I am hers.


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