See Me

He sees me. He sees me for all of who I am. All of who I really am and not just the person I pretend to be when everybody’s looking. He sees the best things about me, and the worst things, too. He sees the things that are wonderful about me, and the ugly bits, too. The unmatched intelligence, the embarrassing gaffes. The flights of fancy, the horrible moods. My moments of generosity and warmth, my selfishness and iciness. Me when I’m dolled up and pretty for the streets, and me when I’m menstruating and cranky and greasy. He sees all of it, and he doesn’t run away, even when he sees the part of me that wants to hurt him, ruthlessly, and with no remorse. And he knows that there will always be a part of me that loves him. He isn’t scared by the fits of rage, the lasting tantrums, the egomania and the lust. I guess he isn’t scared by that, because even beneath that, he sees the part of me that only wants to hurt myself. He takes me, and he holds me, and he tells me, “I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore, but even if you never stop hurting yourself, I will always love you.” I look up at him and respond, “I know you are the same way, too. I would eat all your pain and let it sit in my stomach until it killed me, if only I could, but I know that I can’t to do that. Your pain is your pain – it will always be your pain, and whatever you have to do to live with that – it doesn’t matter, because I will always love you. Even when the pain hurts the most, and even after its gone, I will always be here.”

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