So I don't know where I am going with this exactly. The beginning words belong to my aunt.
What is it about love that makes us feel so weak?
Is it the dependence?
The responsibility of this other human that relies on us so much? Maybe too much?
She holds him close, stroking his hair and whispering in his ear as he whispers against her chest, both hands held against his lips. She presses her lips against his head, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing, but they go anyway and she almost hates herself for it. The strong one? As if, whoever said that was a liar. A bold faced liar. How could they say such a thing?
She begins to rock, taking him on the trip with her, and he just continues to whisper, speaking to nothing and something all at the same time.
Maybe it is the madness that comes with the love.
I mean, we're all a little crazy on the inside right?
Take a special kind of person to handle it.
But isn't that the fun part?
This roller coaster of love we take for one person?
She tightens her arms around him as he screams and thrashes, closing her eyes tighter, and he curses at her, flailing his arms against her. It doesn't bother her anymore, not like it used to, when she was new to it. It didn't bother her like it used to, when she knew nothing about it. When she knew nothing about him and what had happened, but she knew now and the only thing she could do was hold on, when he couldn't, when all he could promise was three simpler words, and she knew that was a feeble truth.
"I'll remember you…"
I think of it as a dog thinks of its human.
When it likes you, it claims you.
'This is my human, and no one will harm my human without going through
me first.'