Each of us has a language, that when spoken, speaks to our sensibilities regarding care and concern. Some require a demonstrative display of affection; a sense of safety speaks to a few; while others prefer the prose of material possession.
I have always thought my language to be quite simple: if you want me to know that you care, do what you say you are going to do. Finding a companion who can consistently meet my expectation in this regard has been a challenge. But today, I have more hope than ever.
Previous admirers endeavored to love and care for me the way they wanted to. And they failed. I have enjoyed seemingly white hot passion and the company of those whose mission was to protect and serve, as well as the overpriced and over the top pieces of jewelry; all at the expense my uncomplicated requirement: follow through. I would have accepted less than zealous intimate performances, the company of a timid executive and fewer carats in my jewelry box in exchange for all of the promises that never saw the light of day.
A gift is not a gift unless it is a gift. Loving someone the way you see fit is selfish. Consenting to such a self-centered act of intimacy is at best an unnecessary act of martyrdom; or perhaps, emotional suicide. Some poor souls eventually buckle under the weight of disappointment and accept love in the manner in which it is presented, fearful that their standards are a myth. Not I. There is no fear in love…so they say.
My heart’s desire is close at hand. I am waiting; and He and I am worth the wait.
Selah.
In Loving Memory
I still love the memory of you;
that you loved me the way you wanted
and missed loving me altogether.
I still wear the memory of you;
you were my favorite scent—
it and you no longer linger.
I still hear the memory of you;
the desperation of your, “I love you”,
spoken in haste and finding me unprepared.
I still love the memory of you;
that you loved me the way you wanted
and missed loving me altogether.
© 2010 Camille Gray. All rights reserved.
