And although I’m not one, I still feel I can speak about it because I am in love with one. And she’s so quickly and fluently become my everything. When I look into her eyes, it gives me faith in the crooked tragedy of the path that lead me here. The way she lets me in. Lets me see who she is, her insecurities and her strengths. She lays bare for me and I don’t just mean in a slutty way.
Emotionally intelligent, we get each other. And in this way I see how same sex relationships make sense. She tells me daily how she’d happily forgo happiness with me if she could go back and undo the holes: make it so Dylan had lived. I fall in love with her harder every time she says it because her selflessness is beauty and love in it’s human form. And my heart breaks a little too because my feelings are split. Of course I would want my baby back, I can’t deny the strength of that, but the pain comes from knowing it would mean I would never be with her, in this new life. And how can I wish for the undoing of the one thing that’s saved me? How can I remove her from the equation now I have grown to love her? The paradox is too great and the result of which makes me a shithead which ever way I choose.
I want it to be perfect for her, although I know it isn’t. Living in the shadow of what came before, it’s not easy. His photo’s are down but his footprints are everywhere. But she accepts it with grace and dignity and love. Living with my mum, you think she’d complain of the lack of privacy once in a while. But she doesn’t. She’s gentle and loving and treats my mother like her own. Showing interest in the things she talks about, doing DIY and making her coffee the way she likes it. And she makes her laugh: the biggest gift anyone could ever give me is hearing my mum laugh. When the three of us are together, it’s amazing how much we laugh. Constantly cackling wildly and honestly, seeing my mum’s face contorted and stretched in the most uncontrollably delicious way, sides splitting with laugher, I melt and smile and breath. Because I’m lucky to have this. Truly. And when I think of a day when my mum might not be here and it makes me love her harder in the now: the only definite there is.
She gave me back the love I once had for my home. She makes me want to be there. To stop running and to rebuild from the mess that was left behind. It’s befitting I finally ended up in a relationship with a woman, given my love of womanhood. It makes sense with who I am now and who I have been. There’s no dilemma despite the lack of definition. Together, we make sense.