Even now. I’m spending all my time writing. Reaching out and connecting. I’m doing the hard work. I’m growing and I find it fulfilling. But when I get home at night I still look at Mason with puppy-eyes and hope he’ll agree this is significant. I still feel like it doesn’t count if people don’t share the stuff I write, don’t comment, don’t hit “like”. As if what I get out of it is somehow tied to what you get out of it. Continue reading →
He makes loving him easy. Makes it safe to let my guard down. In those soft, tender moments it becomes clear just how different he is—this love is—than the ones I used to frequent.
The things I was fed flavored the rest of me. Every relationship I’ve ever had bled into the next one. Old habits and expectations that never served me well stuck around, wreaking havoc. I catch myself applying old salt to fresh wounds. Getting nowhere. Continue reading →