I don’t know why I think of you so often. Many men since you have proclaimed me no longer precious, but you, you hurt the most. Maybe you hurt the most because you were the first, the first to put me aside, the first to say I was not worthy, the first to say I was not loved.
Maybe you hurt the most because you are still near, entwined in my life, knotted by our tribe, so we speak oft about our common ground.
When we do speak, I am overjoyed to hear from you, despite its purpose, despite the fact you are all business. I want to shout, “Oh! Let’s do be friends, lets do be kind and tender to each other!!”
And when you are tender, when you let slip a kindness, I cling to your words – your kind words are still precious to me, even when raked from the ones intended to hurt.
Maybe I think of you often because the last time we spoke, I was sure you were living the life you always wanted. You were completely you- while the rest of us struggle to find our true selves, to find our unique space that fits like skin. You are beautifully there, beautifully settled in your own skin.
I think about now if you met me fresh would you feel the same. I wonder if you would say, “you remind me of someone I once knew, only your skin, your skin is different.” I wonder if you would feel tender, gentle and kind or would I, once again, bring out your cruelty and disdain.
Often I think about you and wonder….