Walking The Tightrope

I met a woman. And I have no idea what I’m doing.

How do you begin a relationship that you want to be your last? How do you sustain it?

I could beat around the bush about it. Hem and haw about how much I love her and how sure I am she’s the one. But none of that matters if I can’t keep her.

Its funny how this all works. I, frankly, am fine with women. I know the right things to say. I know how to present myself. I always get the second date. It’s always my desires that determine how things play out.

Not with her.

Every time I look into her eyes I want to roll over her with the wave of what I’m feeling. “I love you” has been on the tip of my tongue every second of every hour I’m with her. I can’t say that though. I can’t even call her my girlfriend.

She’s been hurt and I can see it in her eyes. She wants to take it slow and I want that for her. I don’t want to force her into anything she’s not ready for. But saying anything other than exactly what I’m feeling is lying. I try to say “I’d like that” as much as possible. When really all I want to say is “I’d love that, and everything else you’ve ever done or will do.”

None of this is to say I’m not pressing. I tell her everything up to the precipice of what I think will run her off. I tell her she’s beautiful. I tell her that I want her in my life. I tell her that I have no idea what I’m doing because I’ve never met anyone like her. I tell her that when she’s ready, I will be too. I send her songs that remind me of her. They all do.

Grace and a smile. That’s what she gives me in return. She tells me I’m sweet. She tells me she is cautiously optimistic. She says she wants to be sure for my sake. That she trusts what I say, but not that I’ll mean it later.

It crushes me. A feather on your shoulder is comforting. A million feathers break the legs beneath you. It’s a ridiculous situation, trying to convince the person that you want to die with to just go out to dinner next weekend. But that’s where I am.

So how do I walk this tightrope? The answer is slowly. One foot in front of the other, taking care not to swing to far in either direction. One text at a time. One dinner where I can’t sit still because my legs want to run to the nearest church — at a time. One kiss that I want to hold until neither of us can breathe — at a time. One long goodbye in her doorway, breathless with the fear that it will be our last — at a time.

I pray about it every night. But not for me. For her. That she finds the strength to trust again. That she finds the love she deserves. That she meets the man who has the capacity to understand her worth. That she wake up every morning next to a man who has already been up for an hour thanking God he got to watch her sleep.

Who am I to even pray that I’m worthy of being that man? I’m simply a guy who has stumbled upon the glow of the greatest blessing I’ve ever experienced –just praying that I can stay in the glow a little longer. To call that blessing my own? That would truly be an act of God.

Im suffocating on the things I want to say. Because I met a woman.



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