I’ve realized after loving David that
no matter how close we are, he and I are two completely different people.
Just because of our label as a married couple doesn’t mean that I have the right to demand anything from him or be disappointed with all of my unfulfilled expectations. But because we are different, and because we love each other, we need to constantly work on coping with each other’s problems.
I do try to understand and be patient with him, but I end up just being a selfish person who only thinks about what he did wrong and how upset I feel.
“Why doesn’t he understand me?”
“I wouldn’t have done that if I were him.”
“I would’ve done better than that.”
“It’s not fair that he has so much going for him and I have to suffer do much.”
He just stands there, looking at me with this sad face, apologizing for things he doesn’t understand, but because he loves me he is willing to do anything and everything to make me feel better.
Im starting to understand now that me being upset because he doesn’t understand my mood swings and getting mad because he hasn’t picked up on the random hints I throw his way about something I want him to do are actually signs of being in love.
If this wasn’t love, I wouldn’t care about his way of making every argument a joke, his way of tapping his fingers through an entire movie, his annoying way of rambling on and on and on about people he dealt with at work that day but neglecting to ask me how my day at home … alone … bored … and in pain … had went. And everything else that falls in between.
Without love, there would be no anger, no tears, and best of all, no smiles. Love paints my ordinary days with extraordinary colors, and sometimes those colors are shades of pretty pink and yellow and that nice shade of blue that the sky is on days where there isn’t a single cloud … and sometimes they’re colors of shit, but they always end up making the perfect picture.
I have frequent episodes of crying with tears dripping everywhere and snot all over the place because I know he’s always right here to wipe my face clean and kiss my forehead as he tells me everything is going to be ok. If he weren’t here, I would just wipe my tears away with the hem of my T-shirt and get up to get some ice cream or a few pizza pockets or something else loaded with carbs to binge on.
Because I know that my ‘stuff’ hurts him just as much as it hurts me, and because it just amazes me to see how much he struggles to make me happy, I am trying harder then I ever have in my entire life to better myself.
There are no set rules in love. I’ve learned that now. No amount of reading through self help books or advice columns or relationship websites will teach you how love really works. It’s actually turned out to be quite simple. Just missing him when he’s not here next to me, feeling a deep ache in the pit of my stomach whenever he works a night shift and I have to sleep alone … in our big queen size bed … in the dark … the echo of silence deafening without him there snoring … my only place of safety being in his arms, and feeling hungry right after we have sex …
That is the kind of love we’re in.