I wrote you a poem three years ago, which said that my heart was your own to protect. I called it ‘Boxing Gloves’, because you were a boxer and you were strong enough to take care of me. My heart was a fragile gift, and you said you understood that it was a hard job; a difficult and sometimes irritating thing. You gave your word. You promised me that, come what may, you would always love me and take care of me. You carved your name into my heart and it was never to fade away. Since then, no matter what obstacles we encountered, I knew that I could count on your love to carry me through. It was your love that made me into who I am and made me realize who I wanted to be and that I could achieve whatever end I wished for because I had your love. Forgive me if I’m not alright with you coming at me with a piece of sand paper, trying to smooth away your carving because you weren’t man enough to keep your word. I’m sorry that my crying bothers you and that I ask you questions which are not easy for you to answer. I have an obstinate heart, though delicate. It won’t let you chisel away the feelings embedded in its flesh. You don’t get to decide these things, nor do I. You can break a heart, but it doesn’t die. Even in pieces, it throbs in my chest and it waits for you to set aside the sand paper and return with the duct tape. I know you’ll fix this again. You have to.
People are imperfect. Holding them to unreasonable standards and unachievable expectations doesn’t change that they will make mistakes that will hurt you. Being afraid of imperfection does not protect you from the pain that comes from those mistakes, once made. You can’t expect so much, so often. Sometimes, its when you are hurt the most you have ever been hurt that you understand love in its entirety. Forgiveness must be fully felt as it seeps out of your pores so that you can know, once and for all, that your love is true. Do you love him, even after what he did to you? I don’t remember what he did. Forgiveness changes things. Forgiveness IS love, and love is all I can feel anymore. He’s taught me all I know about who I am, because he’s helped to make me this way. And in the end, all I can do is hope that he can forgive me for pushing him too hard, for too long; for expecting him to be perfect when not even I could be as perfect as he already was.
We are all just breakable girls and boys. We all make mistakes and we all have regrets; we say and do things that make us hate ourselves. You will never be perfect. Neither will I. But love can be perfect. Love can forgive and overlook and mend and grow. I may not know what tomorrow holds and I may not be able to tell if you’re lying to me and I may wind you up and you may let me down, but I love you. I love you with everything that I have and everything that I will ever be. And all I want, for the rest of my life, is to be loved by you. To be your very own. To be given the chance to show you how much I mean these things.
These are the promises that I can make to you: I will wear your clothes to bed. I will cry at nonsensical things, such as films, books and adverts about abused animals. I will get upset when you’re mad at me, but only because I hate to make you mad. I will always buy you things I know you like, if I can afford them—such as blue powerade, white chocolate and cheap water guns. I will dance with you like a fool—anywhere. I will throw things across the aisles of the shop and try to win points for getting it in the basket. I will sing until you fall asleep. I will always make you a sammich. I will never do the wash as well as you. I will scream about spiders and bugs until you squish them. I will never fall asleep without you there. I will always be playful, and always try to make your life fun. I will always cling to your hand and hug your arm to me. I will always watch football with you. I will never make you watch a chick-flick, but I might make you watch Star Wars. I will sometimes look horrible. I will always want a cuddle. I will let you be childish. I will stay out of the way when you’re in a bad mood, unless you want me there. I will try to fix things on my own and take out the garbage. I will not nag. I will always remember every anniversary and birthday, but never get mad when you forget. I will always forget when you hurt my feelings and remember when you made them better. I will make mistakes. I will say things that I regret and do things to annoy and frustrate you for attention. I will be jealous of anyone who gets to be near you when I can not. I will miss you when you’re away, even for a minute. I will make your lunch. I will have your babies. I will throw up if you throw up, then again if I have to clean it up. I will panic if you get hurt and probably cry even if you’re fine and laughing. I will not bring up the past. I will be ridiculous and hyper-sensitive 92% of the time. I will always, no matter what happens, love you with every fiber of my being. I will always put you first. I will always die for you. I will live for you, too.
And all I ask in return is for you to remember that I’m imperfect, and I make mistakes…. and just love me inspite of myself.