It’s me—writing in sweats, watching soccer on a Saturday. It’s me, wondering how many more single Valentine’s days I’ll have—made brighter from the hugs of the children I work with and the annual bouquet from my Dad. I sit here writing instead of studying—I can’t clinch my fists when my heart needs to breathe. It’s me, looking back at what I could have said or done differently—knowing I grasped at straws, said stupid things, took that extra sip. It’s easier to look back and regret the smallest things that must have doomed instant connections, instead of brushing them off and knowing that “tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it”. So, it’s not you, it’s me.
It’s not you—the ones that I look back and give a grateful sigh that a conversation or a friendship was all that I have to regret. It’s not you—the ones who sat in friendships, didn’t clarify—or couldn’t because you did even know. Naw, it’s not you from the past that I miss —everything happens for a reason.
It’s me. Knowing that my life HAS started—it has purpose, joy, and so much love—right now. It’s me knowing that God has blessed me in numerous ways—and someday, maybe, you’ll be a part of that. It’s me, not expecting prince charming or a romantic comedy—although, let’s be honest—there will be lots of romance and comedy. I know you’ll have chinks in your armor and I’ll have jewels missing from my tiara. I know that it will be a beautiful battle to fight for unity, clarity, honesty. I know there will be days that are more comedic then romantic—where a glass of wine and a prayer are the ways to end the chaotic and clumsy day. But today, it’s me—single but satisfied that someday, maybe—it’ll be we.
I'm praying. Dad
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