Love is Complicated
And Isn’t This the Beautiful Truth of Love
And isn’t this the beautiful truth of Love, that he would make dinner and bake fresh bread. That he would wish me well on my first day of new work. That he would make sure he got a kiss before he left, and then another. Tell me how proud of me he is, sincerely.
The beautiful truth of love is that it is complicated. It is not all rainbows and sunshine, not all romance and sex. There is conflict and arguments and not seeing eye to eye. Not putting the kitchen towel back on the bar to hang, but leaving it wadded and wet on the counter. Dropping socks everywhere. How can there be so many socks when there are only two feet?!? It is then the asking, “Hey, will you please hang that towel?” or “Will you put those in the hamper?”
It’s the little things that are lovely, and the little things that can drive someone crazy. It is the learning how to communicate about all of it. It is breaking out of the terrible idea that we should be able to read each other’s minds, and that we are somehow bad at our relationship if we can’t. That’s some bullshit I am unlearning.
It is the willingness to be uncomfortable and vulnerable. Having our needs met and our desires expressed. Doing our own work too. It’s not about broken halves being put back together to become one. No, it’s about finding wholeness in ourselves and each other, regardless of how broken we are. It’s not about fixing, it’s about meeting what is. Seeing the brilliance of who they already are, them seeing that in you, and growing together.
