Trust is not a simple thing.
It is a growing pleasure.
It is earned day to day.
Your trust is my half-moon.
My starry night.
My favorite song.
Trust is not a given gift.
It is an earned one.
My trust is not as strong,
Or perhaps my insecurities have a deep taproot.
I feel vulnerable,
though you have shown more willingness.
I have no crushes, no eyes for fashion
or style–and so do not comment on
I must repay your faith in me.
I must sever the roots for the trust of you.
For foolish I will never make you feel,
For your trust is worth more
than all the pearls in all the oysters in all the sea.
And you are worth everything I can give,
my fullest trust, for starters.
When I wake before you I like when you roll over. You bring the blankets back to me, your unconscious self wanting to be close to me. When You have the blankets up around your neck and only your face is showing, your nose flares with your outward breath, your lips part too. Inside I can see the white of your teeth and the cracks in between which are only darkness. Then there is your hair, all let down and framing your face and your eyebrows so much like calligraphy lines swiped, meticulously onto a clean doll. The place where your nose stars–I am sure the doctors have a name for it, but I don’t–you know, right between your eyes scoops and swoops like sallow in spring time chasing bugs in the sky. Then there is your nose. Not jutting or protuberant, but certainly, yet inconspicuous. It is round and small and perfect. Back down to your lips below it, are pulled down in a small frown as if you are having a bad dream.
I want to kiss you. I want to hug you and hold you and tell you whatever causes that frown isn’t a problem. I want to wrap you up in my arms in a way that I’ve never wrapped anyone. I want the other night to have never happened. Because since it has it hasn’t been the same between us, even though I know it should. I know the truths of what we are doing. I know the truths of how I feel. And the way I feel is that I want to tell you you’ll never hurt again. Not when I’m with you. You’ll never feel the sting of rejection or the bite of spiteful words. I’ll never make you feel small or unworthy. And as long as you treat me as an equal, not someone you’re just keeping around, I’ll treat you the same. And if we can forget that night ever happened that you didn’t feel like you just needed to be alone, that you didn’t have time for me. If you didn’t keep looking out at the crowd and shaking your head as if you knew this wasn’t meant to be, and I hadn’t been upset you needed space from me, then maybe we could have avoided this whole thing. Maybe if I had decided that the distance was too great or that you had your own agenda that didn’t involve me–maybe if I had seen all those things I wouldn’t be typing this out. I wouldn’t have woke up beside you this morning wishing we lived closer. Because now the honeymoon is over and I’ve written you poetry and love letters and we’ve meditated in the hopes of understanding who we are together. And we did, for a little, but then we didn’t because who we weren’t who we had said. I’m selfish and hard and jaded from experiences I’ve had with other women in past relationships. I’m wary that this becomes something I’d not want. I’m afraid that we begin to work together we’d find we aren’t the right fit. But in truth, we know we are, or we know we can be. And I know you aren’t going anywhere and I know I’m not going anywhere. And tonight I’m going to do something special for you when you get home and everything is going to be alright–at least, I hope it will.
You are one of the most loving and passionate people I’ve ever met. I’m so happy when we are together. I’m happy when I fall asleep next to you at night, and when we wake up in the morning. I want all of who you are. No rock unturned, no path left unexplored. Let me have this. Let me have you and trust me when I say, you deserve this.