The Giving“Meet me.”
Yes. I will. I am thrilled and I am terrified, but I am drawn to you above the others. You are the one I will meet. I am afraid to look at you, to stare, but yet I want to know, so I look into your eyes and what I see reflected back to me is kindness, and maybe a slight fear not unlike my own, and it makes you all the more attractive to me.
We talk and there is a give and take and we learn, take mental notes; ah yes, I not only hear what you are saying, I can feel your voice as it enters my ear canal, it tickles, your words echo in my head, magnified. I will always remember this day, this moment, this feeling.
I want to kiss you so I do. And you give me your lips; your tongue and I swallow you. You taste delicious. I have given myself to you I am afraid, with that first kiss, when you touched my hair, and I think you have given me a little of you too and it feels nice that initial reciprocity. I will hold onto this gift for a while, turn it over in my head, savor it, treasure it.
Now when we share each new thing, it is like ecstasy from a dropper, a taste, to whet your appetite. And you say, this hair is mine, these lips, can I have them? This mouth, these breasts belong to me, and I love them. And I say, what can I have in return and you show me and I am quite delighted. And we share, and I say, this is mine too, --it’s only fair, and we have a deal. We have each other and it is sweet.
This is mine. I want it, I dream about it, and we both agree that the giving is very, very exceptional and satisfying.
Then after a time, although it has become obvious it still needs to be said, so we say it. I give my heart to you too. You have it, and what is hinted at but not spoken is, please be careful with it, it is fragile. Please don’t break it, and there is the slightest trace of a little begging, but it is too soft, so neither one of us can be sure what we heard. Maybe it was the wind.
After a while it is as if ownership is assumed. You are mine and I am yours, and it is beautiful and fun and I miss you when I am not with you and there is no one else in the world but you—don’t make me choose how I spend my time, just be with me when you can; I feel unwhole without you.
And it is good, the giving, for a long time it is good.
But there is a pulling now, a tugging it seems. You are not willing to give, to share. It happens sometimes that the deal gets broken, and there is a taking back of what was once freely given. And the pulling away tears the bond, and it sears the tendons that had formed, and it hurts when one is still holding on for fear of falling because letting go means that you will hit the ground, hard.
And then, “I give this back to you. I no longer want it.” Take back the softness, the wetness, the smoothness, the hardness—take it all back, each to its rightful owner. There can be no more sharing. And if you are fortunate you might hear, I am sorry about your heart. I didn’t mean to break it. I hope it mends quickly. But if not, you must console yourself, give back to yourself, reclaim yourself, overcome the inevitable self-loathing, rejection’s partner, give yourself love.
Left to yourself though you find you have too much now, having been used to sharing, there is now a surplus and you are faced with the knowledge that what was once so precious when it was given feels tattered and useless, excessive and ugly even. And you must live with this, with the understanding that you are unwanted, and worse, that there is exchanging going on without you; what was once given to you has been rescinded, you are left with nothing, because there is only so much to go around.
And for a very long time you have nothing to give.
But eventually you sew everything back together and give yourself a break because these things happen in life, in love. Perhaps, if you are really brave you stand before a mirror and you talk to yourself. You tell yourself that you are beautiful, you are worthy, and you will share again. Soon there will be another who will say, “meet me” and you will say, “yes.”
And so it goes.