Embracing Her Truth
She thinks I'm so good, so patient with her, and she feels so guilty every time she lashes out at me. I see it in her eyes, the remorse, thinking she's not the woman she firmly believes I deserve.
It's just the way Nikita is; she wants to give everything and more to those she loves, and she suffers terribly when she can't live up to the ideal she has in her head about what she should be and how she should behave.
She doesn't know that the only reason I have the strength to guide her through our journey toward healing is because she showed me the way.
Now that she has returned to me, she wants to return to the place where we left off all those years ago, she wants to be the woman I left behind on that dark day at the train station.
She ignores that love is both give and take, and it's sometimes necessary to merge with the darkness before we can walk out into the light.
Love isn't always pretty. Love has the power of caressing you like a delicate breeze, of taking you to paradise and then possessing you like a raging fever. It can be greedy, violent or a thunderbolt from the heavens. It can be a pang in your heart so strong you feel completely overpowered by its intensity. Love needs to be this way.it's what makes it magical.
Yet she stubbornly won't accept it. She wants to love me with out rage or fear, and yet she knows deep down that when you love this deeply, the fear of losing that love is inevitable.
It's dangerous when you say I love you because you give freely the power to hurt with as much intensity as the happiness you feel. You know you can hurt the person you love the most the same way. It's a big responsibility when you say I love you. Those three little words, why does she think it took me so long to say them?
She is my light, but my darkness sometimes envelopes her, when you lived the life we have, you can't have one with out the other.
It's not a burden to deal with her insecurities and frustrations, even if she would try to tear me apart with her bare hands in fit anger I wouldn't care. In fact I think I would be aroused by it, by her passion. Don't ask me to explain why.I can't. It's simply the truth.
Whatever good is in me, it comes from her.
My faith is not in me.she is my faith. And I need to be hers.
I adore her, not just as a lover, or even as a friend, but as the complete and total person that she is. She has never had and has no equal in my eyes.
A part of me wants to shield her from all evil, to bring her more joy then she has ever known, but that other part of me, the selfish part of my heart, that although not wanting to cause her pain, is pleased that this precious creature depends on me to sooth her fears. I am relieved to have her cling to me with the same desperation I have always had.and still have for her.
I know the pain of an existence with out her, and because of that knowledge, it would be highly unlikely that I would let her slip away from me again. As long as she loves me, she will never know a day with out me.
Her love is the one thing I can't do with out.
There are many reasons I love her for. One is that she doesn't fear facing the truth, whatever that truth may be. She would rather feel the pain then feel nothing at all. I don't know if it's courage or not.but I admire her for it. She is strong where I am weak, and I succeed where she fails. We fit well together.
Now, unexpectedly we share the ultimate most intimate bond a man and women can share. Is this luck or fate? Maybe both. She's afraid. I see it in her eyes and feel it in her body every time I hold her, and in spite of her fear.or maybe because of it, my love for her grows even fiercer. My need to protect and reassure her grows almost out of control.
Every night, before we fall asleep, I ask her to close her eyes and tell me where she imagines our life will be in the future. The first night she was surprised at my request and hesitant to express her hopes. The second night she made up excuses and changed the subject. The third night she had little to say. A start, nevertheless. Night after night she gave more, her fantasies became more articulate and richer in detail. She don't need to ask me for anything, for there is nothing I wouldn't do to grant her every wish, to make her as happy as she deserves to be. My motivations are not altruistic, because I'm only all right and happy if she is too. When I see her crying or in pain, I feel it as physical blow, as if I have deepening hole in my heart, and I would give the moon and stars for her happiness.
Not many people understand the fear of not knowing who you are anymore, or worse, of being nothing but an empty shell of what you once were. Most don't understand the panic at knowing you don't care what you are anymore. We do. She understands me better than anyone else. It amazes me that she actually bothered to try to comprehend my actions when I made it so difficult by hiding behind my blank mask.
Nikita is even my first choice as listener, although I'm not very good in the sensitive gibberish; She's attentive and enthusiastic, infuriatingly so sometimes, and she's always inquisitive. She listens to every word I say.
She freed me, and when I drink in her beautiful azure eyes and her mesmerizing smile, I see reflected back at me the man I can become.
Nikita made me laugh when I thought my existence was a burden for me, and those I loved. She gave me a reason to put up a brave front. While I lost my balance she steadied me. And for sometime she made a paradise out of the hell.
I want to give something back to her.
If it's in my power, I'll give her that life she dared not hope for. The one she can now openly tell me about at night when it's just the two of us in our bed.
Of course, I know that we can't let ourselves have the luxury of thinking we are untouchable, and that we have to keep our guard up.
But even I can recognize that she needs these little daydreams, she needs them to believe in US at least.to believe in me.
I will never let anyone hurt her or take her from me again. I'm here to stay.
I can't seem to make her believe that she will never be like her mother. That because she loves so completely, so unconditionally, she will make the most wonderful mother to our child. Nikita won't accept the truth of my words, but through experience and the love of our baby girl, she will slowly learn to believe what I know with all my heart to be the truth.
The reflection in the mirror is whom she distrust's, it's who she fears. One day she will see the beauty of what I see when I look at her. In the reflection of our child's eyes my beloved will vanquish the shadows.
Death will befall our nightmares. Hope will visit us. Our dreams will be reborn.
Our home may not have a white picket fence, but our bed will always be warm and our sunsets will be with out lies.
Reveille, petite, take my hand and embrace our reality. We are the beginning, the end, and all that lies in between.
While she sleeps I kiss her forehead and fight to keep my eyes from closing. I don't want to sleep tonight. I thank God for the chance to once again look her over.
Her body is relaxed into mine.
Everything is temporary, ephemeral in Section. It made her every touch that much more precious to me. I wanted to keep her longer than I knew I could.
I don't know how I found the strength to leave her, leave this. For Adam, who needed me as much as I need her.
Nikita and I saw terrible things, we assisted in carnages no one should have ever witnessed much less been part of. We know things that make it difficult for us to believe in something other then ourselves. We have felt pain and loss no one should ever have to feel. I try to alleviate the sorrow of those things for her, as she has done for me.
The night is special for us, because it's when our masks drop. At night we are alone and as free as we can get. It's this time that I talk to my unborn baby girl. I want desperately to make everything right this time. I don't make any promises to her, but I do tell her how much I love her, because I, WE, can't afford any more wasted time or other regrets.
I talk with her mother more often too.
I like this time.it gives me sense of permanency. Of reality.
My lips brush the nape of her shoulder. Her skin is so soft. Her eyes are closed like the sea. Beautiful.
She once said I'm a romantic. I'm not. I merely love her. That's all.
She thinks I'm so good, so patient with her, and she feels so guilty every time she lashes out at me. I see it in her eyes, the remorse, thinking she's not the woman she firmly believes I deserve.
It's just the way Nikita is; she wants to give everything and more to those she loves, and she suffers terribly when she can't live up to the ideal she has in her head about what she should be and how she should behave.
She doesn't know that the only reason I have the strength to guide her through our journey toward healing is because she showed me the way.
Now that she has returned to me, she wants to return to the place where we left off all those years ago, she wants to be the woman I left behind on that dark day at the train station.
She ignores that love is both give and take, and it's sometimes necessary to merge with the darkness before we can walk out into the light.
Love isn't always pretty. Love has the power of caressing you like a delicate breeze, of taking you to paradise and then possessing you like a raging fever. It can be greedy, violent or a thunderbolt from the heavens. It can be a pang in your heart so strong you feel completely overpowered by its intensity. Love needs to be this way.it's what makes it magical.
Yet she stubbornly won't accept it. She wants to love me with out rage or fear, and yet she knows deep down that when you love this deeply, the fear of losing that love is inevitable.
It's dangerous when you say I love you because you give freely the power to hurt with as much intensity as the happiness you feel. You know you can hurt the person you love the most the same way. It's a big responsibility when you say I love you. Those three little words, why does she think it took me so long to say them?
She is my light, but my darkness sometimes envelopes her, when you lived the life we have, you can't have one with out the other.
It's not a burden to deal with her insecurities and frustrations, even if she would try to tear me apart with her bare hands in fit anger I wouldn't care. In fact I think I would be aroused by it, by her passion. Don't ask me to explain why.I can't. It's simply the truth.
Whatever good is in me, it comes from her.
My faith is not in me.she is my faith. And I need to be hers.
I adore her, not just as a lover, or even as a friend, but as the complete and total person that she is. She has never had and has no equal in my eyes.
A part of me wants to shield her from all evil, to bring her more joy then she has ever known, but that other part of me, the selfish part of my heart, that although not wanting to cause her pain, is pleased that this precious creature depends on me to sooth her fears. I am relieved to have her cling to me with the same desperation I have always had.and still have for her.
I know the pain of an existence with out her, and because of that knowledge, it would be highly unlikely that I would let her slip away from me again. As long as she loves me, she will never know a day with out me.
Her love is the one thing I can't do with out.
There are many reasons I love her for. One is that she doesn't fear facing the truth, whatever that truth may be. She would rather feel the pain then feel nothing at all. I don't know if it's courage or not.but I admire her for it. She is strong where I am weak, and I succeed where she fails. We fit well together.
Now, unexpectedly we share the ultimate most intimate bond a man and women can share. Is this luck or fate? Maybe both. She's afraid. I see it in her eyes and feel it in her body every time I hold her, and in spite of her fear.or maybe because of it, my love for her grows even fiercer. My need to protect and reassure her grows almost out of control.
Every night, before we fall asleep, I ask her to close her eyes and tell me where she imagines our life will be in the future. The first night she was surprised at my request and hesitant to express her hopes. The second night she made up excuses and changed the subject. The third night she had little to say. A start, nevertheless. Night after night she gave more, her fantasies became more articulate and richer in detail. She don't need to ask me for anything, for there is nothing I wouldn't do to grant her every wish, to make her as happy as she deserves to be. My motivations are not altruistic, because I'm only all right and happy if she is too. When I see her crying or in pain, I feel it as physical blow, as if I have deepening hole in my heart, and I would give the moon and stars for her happiness.
Not many people understand the fear of not knowing who you are anymore, or worse, of being nothing but an empty shell of what you once were. Most don't understand the panic at knowing you don't care what you are anymore. We do. She understands me better than anyone else. It amazes me that she actually bothered to try to comprehend my actions when I made it so difficult by hiding behind my blank mask.
Nikita is even my first choice as listener, although I'm not very good in the sensitive gibberish; She's attentive and enthusiastic, infuriatingly so sometimes, and she's always inquisitive. She listens to every word I say.
She freed me, and when I drink in her beautiful azure eyes and her mesmerizing smile, I see reflected back at me the man I can become.
Nikita made me laugh when I thought my existence was a burden for me, and those I loved. She gave me a reason to put up a brave front. While I lost my balance she steadied me. And for sometime she made a paradise out of the hell.
I want to give something back to her.
If it's in my power, I'll give her that life she dared not hope for. The one she can now openly tell me about at night when it's just the two of us in our bed.
Of course, I know that we can't let ourselves have the luxury of thinking we are untouchable, and that we have to keep our guard up.
But even I can recognize that she needs these little daydreams, she needs them to believe in US at least.to believe in me.
I will never let anyone hurt her or take her from me again. I'm here to stay.
I can't seem to make her believe that she will never be like her mother. That because she loves so completely, so unconditionally, she will make the most wonderful mother to our child. Nikita won't accept the truth of my words, but through experience and the love of our baby girl, she will slowly learn to believe what I know with all my heart to be the truth.
The reflection in the mirror is whom she distrust's, it's who she fears. One day she will see the beauty of what I see when I look at her. In the reflection of our child's eyes my beloved will vanquish the shadows.
Death will befall our nightmares. Hope will visit us. Our dreams will be reborn.
Our home may not have a white picket fence, but our bed will always be warm and our sunsets will be with out lies.
Reveille, petite, take my hand and embrace our reality. We are the beginning, the end, and all that lies in between.
While she sleeps I kiss her forehead and fight to keep my eyes from closing. I don't want to sleep tonight. I thank God for the chance to once again look her over.
Her body is relaxed into mine.
Everything is temporary, ephemeral in Section. It made her every touch that much more precious to me. I wanted to keep her longer than I knew I could.
I don't know how I found the strength to leave her, leave this. For Adam, who needed me as much as I need her.
Nikita and I saw terrible things, we assisted in carnages no one should have ever witnessed much less been part of. We know things that make it difficult for us to believe in something other then ourselves. We have felt pain and loss no one should ever have to feel. I try to alleviate the sorrow of those things for her, as she has done for me.
The night is special for us, because it's when our masks drop. At night we are alone and as free as we can get. It's this time that I talk to my unborn baby girl. I want desperately to make everything right this time. I don't make any promises to her, but I do tell her how much I love her, because I, WE, can't afford any more wasted time or other regrets.
I talk with her mother more often too.
I like this time.it gives me sense of permanency. Of reality.
My lips brush the nape of her shoulder. Her skin is so soft. Her eyes are closed like the sea. Beautiful.
She once said I'm a romantic. I'm not. I merely love her. That's all.