I remembered when I was hurt and determined to forge on. She stopped me and took care of me. I was so used to taking care of myself that I forgot what it was like to be taken care of. I used to think that if you let others take care of you that meant you were weak. She showed me the strength of relying on another. She loved me, which seemed nearly impossible to me. I never saw what she saw in me. I never understood why she loved me, put up with me. But I guess that is what love is.
I had spent so much time refusing to accept who I was. When I kissed the many men who had loved me I had felt nothing. Of course I blamed it on the men. For surely God wouldn’t have made me wrong in that way. So I ignored what I was. I chose celibacy over love, because I was afraid. I was afraid of being different, of persecution. I just wanted to live the normal life society told me to live. But even I knew I would never be happy living that way.
Then one day I finally stopped pretending I was something I’m not. The internal struggle that raged on for years finally ended. I wish I could say that I was the cause of this acceptance, but I’m afraid I wasn’t. No. My salvation came in the form of a beautiful woman with long dark hair. She was everything I wasn’t. We started out as acquaintances, but soon a great friendship was formed. But I had had friends before, even really close friends. I thought nothing more about our relationship.
One night she was listening to me talk about my day when she reached out her hand and held my face tenderly. For once in my life, I did not pull away. I was confused. The warmth from her hand seemed to be warming my entire body and suddenly all I wanted to be was in her arms. I had never felt this way with a man. I finally had my answer to why that was. I took her hand off my face and looked down at it, almost expecting the reason for the curious warmth it brought to be on its surface. The implications of that warmth both scared and excited me. I brushed the lines of her palm with a light finger. She did not speak. She kept her eyes on me as I kept them on her palm, unsure as to what I would do if I looked back.
I had spent so much time refusing to accept who I was. When I kissed the many men who had loved me I had felt nothing. Of course I blamed it on the men. For surely God wouldn’t have made me wrong in that way. So I ignored what I was. I chose celibacy over love, because I was afraid. I was afraid of being different, of persecution. I just wanted to live the normal life society told me to live. But even I knew I would never be happy living that way.
Then one day I finally stopped pretending I was something I’m not. The internal struggle that raged on for years finally ended. I wish I could say that I was the cause of this acceptance, but I’m afraid I wasn’t. No. My salvation came in the form of a beautiful woman with long dark hair. She was everything I wasn’t. We started out as acquaintances, but soon a great friendship was formed. But I had had friends before, even really close friends. I thought nothing more about our relationship.
One night she was listening to me talk about my day when she reached out her hand and held my face tenderly. For once in my life, I did not pull away. I was confused. The warmth from her hand seemed to be warming my entire body and suddenly all I wanted to be was in her arms. I had never felt this way with a man. I finally had my answer to why that was. I took her hand off my face and looked down at it, almost expecting the reason for the curious warmth it brought to be on its surface. The implications of that warmth both scared and excited me. I brushed the lines of her palm with a light finger. She did not speak. She kept her eyes on me as I kept them on her palm, unsure as to what I would do if I looked back.
QBP: "My theory is that the hardest work anyone does in life is to appear normal." EdTV
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