things my abuser has tried to take away from me but failed:
1) Love in the form of sunflowers and surprise dinners and intertwined fingers. Romance and deep kisses, warm and safe. Dancing and giggling with him to Lily Allen. Kissing him and wondering what I did to deserve a body so soft, a love so raw and honest.
2) Love in the form of looking after this heavy body, even when it doesn’t look after me back. Face masks, showers and brushing through my matted hair, knotted like a unkempt garden. Dragging myself to therapy and loving all the charred parts of me. Loving me flawed, loving me regardless, loving me unconditionally, loving the me that survived.
3) Love in the form of a best friend. Nights spent sleeping next to her, nights spent crying into her lap, nights spent singing at the top of our lungs. She loves me silently, knows me when I’m down, knows me when I’m up. She doesn’t love me different, even with all the flaws.
4) Love in the form of family, with their misguided love and tentative support. Love in the form of my mother’s perfume and food she tells me to eat even when I feel I don’t deserve it. Weeks spent in hospital, bringing me my favourite food in the ward. Love in the form of her imperfection and how I wouldn’t change it for the world.
5) Love in the form of music, of dancing around in my room to the anthems of my youth. Of belting it out as loud as my lungs will allow. Songs I’ve cried to, laughed to, kissed to, lost to. Songs that held me up and gave a melody to all the hurt.
6) Love in the form of the poet in me. On my best days, she is all that I am. On my worst days, she is all that I want to be.
7) Love in the form of hope. A love that screams I made it. A love that believes it happened. Recovery has finally, finally begun to taste sweet.
he dreams of wide eyes and rainbow skies, his blonde hair fanned out against the pillow like a crown of gold. my angel, my Icarus, my blue-eyed lover. what must I do to make you stay? how hard must I wish to meet those eyes in the morning?
midnight, baby. I’ll meet you tonight in our dreams. I’ll meet you in the garrets of a fairy palace. I’ll meet you in a field of daisies, a cave of diamonds. I’ll meet you in the nightmares and the dreams. I’ll meet you in the in between.
sleepy eyed lover, with you’re soft hands and marshmallow heart. Aren’t you’re the most beautiful thing this mangled body ever loved.
I love him, more than he knows. I’m waiting for him to come back from the farmers market with flour and bread and rum and peaches. Two hands wrapped around a mug, sipping strong coffee and sitting on the kitchen counter, evening sunlight washing everything in gold and honey and mauve. Please, leave your shoes at the door and shout that you’re home. Please, one more kiss before we turn the kitchen light off.
I love him, more than my mouth could ever admit. He sits in bed, blanket draped across his chest as he watches anime. He’s forgotten his glasses so he squints. I laugh. He calls me “my love” in our mother tongue and kisses my neck, telling me I smell of honey and coffee. Please, linger on my body for a little while longer. Please, keep your palms around my waist till I tell you it’s getting too late.
I love him in words that don’t fit comfortably in my mouth. Softness has never been my first language. Usually romantic jargon sits awkwardly in my throat but god, does it spill like glossy honey when I think of him. God, does it turn sour into sweet, bronze into gold. The soft glow of the lamp illuminates his face whilst he sleeps. He breathes softly and sighs, murmurs for me to please come to bed.
honey, you’re the sweetest thing.