Love Letter + Full Moon = Love Spell

I used to think that the word "balance" was boring when it came to love. I preferred to be off-kilter and thrown into a storm of, like, I guess you could say passion. But I've realized that without it, every single love that's ever shown up in my realm ended up lopsided. 

See, I really am a dreamer, and I really do believe in true love and soulmates (I suppose we must have more than one), and all of that. And I think that Heather was right when she said that love is eternal, and that before every ride on earth, we make plans with each other about what's going to happen. We look at each other and say, "Hey, we're so close over here, when we go down there and put on our 'flesh costumes,' you should betray me, and I'll betray this person, and you betray that other one, and we'll all learn and evolve so much and then we'll meet back here afterwards, it'll be great!" Only, in between lifetimes we forget what it's like down here, how hard life can be when you're evolving, and how badly betrayal hurts. How humiliating it feels. How, even if you forgive, the one who did it is changed for the rest of this lifetime in your eyes.

Some people are really good at compartmentalizing. When a relationship goes sour or is over, they just put it down and move on. Or sometimes they pretend to put it down, but really they bury it, and they move on until it comes back bigger and stronger than before. I'm generally not one of those people. I'm a romantic. The more amazing a dream is when it first starts, the more often I go back and look at how it used to be, and hold it up to the light, and yearn to get back to that, no matter the cost to my soul. It's just how I process things. Until now. 

But there have been times when I was hurt so badly, I had to say something like, "If there was ever any part of you that loved me at all, please let me go. We've gone around in circles, and it's been kind of a spiral. Maybe two spirals? First the spiral in towards one another, until we met in the middle. If anyone would have looked close enough, they would have seen that we practically had two different colored eyes, because you were half-me and I was half-you. Then the spiral out, the journey apart again. You start thinking, yeah okay this is done I'm fine, bye. Then, wait a minute! Don't go quite yet! Hang on, I'm not ready. When the door opened a draft got in and it's colder out here alone. Then you're like, okay now we're standing apart kind of holding hands. Now we let go of one hand. Okay now you look that way and I'll look this way. Okay, now give my hand a little squeeze, and I'll squeeze yours. Now tell me goodbye, and I'll say goodbye to you, too." 

I'll see you on the other side. I've been there before. We won't remember this, won't remember a thing. We'll be just like we were, only better. 

My problem is, I could always fill in the gaps with my dreams for such a long time. The gaps being places where I'm not loved enough. The other person doesn't give me enough affection? No problem, I'm affectionate as hell, one time it took me so long to notice that it's actually kind of embarrassing. They don't say or do the things I want? I can ask them to and then I somehow fill it in with dreaming while I wait. I've got other things to keep me busy anyway. I know magic. It'll happen. But then it never does. 

However, this is why I know I'll be all right, because when I remember that the love I was holding onto was just a dream, that means it still has a chance to come true for me, even if it's with someone else. And I have to admit that every time the latest one I built those dreams around tries to pull me back in, I now feel worse. It used to be that when we were linked, everything flowed and life felt better. But, sad though it may be, now when they let me go a little more, I feel more healed.  

And I know that there's someone out there who can love me the way I want and need and deserve. There's someone out there who's just like "you," only they're not going to be cruel to me. Like "you" only better, sorry to say it that way, but I need to choose my words carefully, especially on a full moon. Nothing could have been better than the dream I had of you, until now. It still has a chance to come true, only better than I ever imagined. 

Because I still want a home, like the older houses in Portland, lit up from the inside with golden light and laughter, and lilacs in the yard. And I would like to have another baby, and I need someone who is gentle and steady when I'm pregnant, because I'm even more sensitive when I'm in the family way. And you really don't want to unnecessarily stress out a mama because her children feel it too, both inside and outside her belly. And he'll want to feel the baby kick and will still think I look beautiful even when my nose and boobs get weird towards the end, and my giant-ass offspring is making me waddle because this body just ain't big enough for the two of us. 

I gotta know that he doesn't mind going to work and coming straight home to me, in fact he can't wait to come straight home, because I ordered pizza and I'm tired and I missed him all day and I need help getting some bullcrap above the fridge that I explicitly asked him NOT to put up there because I would need it when nobody else was home and it's really annoying that I can't reach that high. (Like, honestly you guys? Why do they even put those two little cabinets up there? I ask you. I guess you could use it for batteries, sure, but they're kind of an emergency item, and everyone in the household should be able to get to them without needing to climb something. I'm just saying. But I digress.)

Someone to sit up at night talking, and to make me laugh, and who I can make laugh back. Who's smart and secure enough to admit that I'm smart too. Who's like, pretty sexy to look at in the streets and downright transcendental in my (and only my) sheets. Who finds me sexy and transcendental, too. (Again, full moon, I don't make the rules but I gotta follow them.) In spite of that, he's gotta understand that I already have a little girl and he needs to take it slow even if he'd rather not, because there's already a family here that he's joining if he joins his life with mine. And he's stoked to join his life with mine. 

Obviously, he has to hate the band Sublime, even if he listened to them just a little if they came on at a party in the early '00s. (What happened on Spring Break of '02 stays there, and we collectively as a generation took an oath to never discuss it.)

I gotta be safe with him, to trust him and it's all right because he's loyal. I'm strong when I need to be, but I want to not need to be all the time. Just like he doesn't have to be strong all the time. We can be there for each other. When he's on his phone, I don't want to be afraid to look over his shoulder and see what he's doing. I don't want to get that punched-in-the-gut feeling of seeing him talk to some other woman and I can tell there's something going on. There won't be anything like that going on. Ever. He'll be too busy checking me out from across the room when he thinks I can't see him, and I'll be doing the same thing. 

I want to get as much as I give. It's taken me all this time to realize how much I really do give. I always felt like it wasn't enough. Women get told all the time that it's normal for the romance to die down, for the passion to fade, for things to get kind of boring, that's how you know you've found someone solid. But no, I don't accept that. Men get a completely opposite narrative spoon-fed to them, and it's not fair. Sure, things calm down some, otherwise no one would ever get anything done. But I know it's possible for the romance to live on, and that's the love for me. 

We've all seen those cute little 100 year-old couples who get interviewed on the local news for their 75th anniversary or some crazy shit like that, and they're like two cute little wrinkled raisin people with shaky voices going, "I saw him at the malt shop 83 years ago, and I thought he was so sexy, he looked just like old so-and-so from the talkies, and he's still sexy today." And he's all, "I looked up from my chocolate malted at the five-and-dime when in walked Judy, and she was wearing a green dress with yellow flowers on it, and she was more beautiful than Greta Garbo or whoever, and she still takes my breath away today." And she's all, "My Aunt Mildred had just come back from a cruise to the Mediterranean and she brought me that dress from a shop in Italy--" and then they cut the story and go back to the news because they're adorable but we can't sit here listening to those two all day, Jeopardy's about to come on. 

My point is: I mean, come on, that shit's adorable. Who wouldn't want that? Back in the day you know they were demons in the sack, too, by 1920s-40s "standies" (standards), which were honestly probably pretty solid sexual standards. Like, people looked good back then. The hair, the tunes, the two fingers of Glenlivet in a proper scotch glass? Ooh, baby. It's no Black Sabbath circa 1977, but I wouldn't say no to it, either, am I right? 

Balance doesn't have to mean dull and predictable. It can mean that I receive as much as I give, and I give the world so it's time to finally get it back. And passion equals pleasure, not pain (I mean non-consensual, don't get your kinky panties in a bunch). It means that their fire burns as white-hot as yours, so you might want to go ahead and get a drink of water now, cuz you're gonna want to stay hydrated. Trust me...

Anyway. So I know I'm going to be all right. A major past trauma that I had buried and "moved on from" came to the surface thanks to the timely watching of that movie Nightingale (trigger warning: get ready to fast-forward through some gut-wrenching violence, but the journey is worth it to get to the ending). Now I'm integrating those lessons and feeling hopeful again. 2019 is almost over. Oh my god, it was awful. But there was a lot of beauty, too. I had given up on ever experiencing some of the things I did, even if they fell short of coming really true in the end. But they helped me realize what I deserve, and what I'm capable of, and what's definitely out there and possible. 

I know true love is real, I have what it takes to give it, now it's time to receive it. If the "practice round" or whatever you want to call it felt that miraculous, just think how it will be when it's with the person who actually makes it come true. 

Holy smokes, we'll be reborn. 





























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