Photo by from Pexels

mother’s day is bittersweet for me

I woke up. Showered. Came back to find the bed freshly made and the little pillows properly placed. I love clean sheets. I’m such a domestic, no? And on the pillow, on my side of the bed, is a card.

Now, I’ve never gotten a card for Mother’s Day before. But these days, I’m feeling more and more like a mother. I told little one that I needed to stop and get cards for my mother and grandmother when a Mother’s Day ad came on the radio. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Can we get cards for my mom for Mother’s Day and her birthday?” “Sure.” So we did, and we picked it out, and we made her siblings sign it.

But I guess that was enough to make her think, “Should we do something for [Kitten] for Mother’s Day, too?”

So she asked my partner, her dad, about it. What are we going to do for [Kitten]? I’m not sure, he said. She’s not exactly a mother, but– She is definitely a mother, she cried out indignantly, not realizing he was playing her and coaxing the answer out of her. He wanted it to come from her, not from him. Yeah, she’s a really good mom, said her brother. So they picked out a card, just right for me, and wrote a message, just for me.

I know how they feel about their mother. About this day. And it made me feel so good inside that they could put that aside and still make this a wonderful day for them and for me. They couldn’t be with me today, but they insisted on me texting them about their “dad’s news when I found out” so they could know my reaction. Because they wanted me to like it. And I loved it. And his mom bought me roses and caramels. And he made sure I had a lovely lunch and a restful afternoon. I couldn’t have asked for more.

But it didn’t make the hard feelings in my head any less hard. It just helped give me something good to balance the hard bits.

For all you mothers and daughters and sons for whom Mother’s Day is a painful day, I see you. I know how it can feel. I can’t say I know your exact pains, but I do know that what you feel is real and valid. And I hope you, too, have ways to sweeten the day. Children who love you. A mother who loves you, even if she didn’t give birth to you.

If this day, though, is tragic or painful, still, please know that it’s okay to feel the way you do. If you’ve lost a child or a mother, through betrayal or through the cold hard reality of time. Whatever it is, please know that you are not alone. And if the day holds joy for you and pain, that is okay, too. And if it only holds joy, I am glad for you.

Whatever you feel, I see you.

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

ugly people aren’t broken or missing pieces

“A full person is always more than the sum of her parts and she is beautiful.”

Someone wrote this on a piece I stumbled upon. I’ve seen the sentiment elsewhere, which is why this stuck with me.

What a lovely thought. A full person, surrounded by friends, love, everything, is beautiful. She may not have perfect features or body, but she is “full.” Her life is full. She has friends, chosen family, etc. Perhaps she volunteers. Certainly, she has plenty of love. How could someone like her not? She is complete, so she must be beautiful.

Unfortunately, I think this too often becomes, “Beautiful people are full [as opposed to ugly people who are broken].”

How many times do we see someone who seems like they’ve got it all together and we immediately project beauty and confidence on them? All I know is that when I’m scrolling through my Facebook feed, I keep seeing videos like this:

A girl envious of this picture perfect couple on Instagram, because she’s “got it all.” In the video, of course it all turns out to be fake, but in real life, she probably does have it all. And so what?

The cruelest, ugliest person I know is as “full” a person as I know.

From the outside, looking in, she has a complete, full life. She has plenty of friends, family, a career, a social life. She isn’t missing anything at all. Her life is good.

She is, by any basic social standards, happy. She has it “all.” Whatever that really means, she has an excess of what a person needs to merely survive.

So, please, don’t tell me that “full people” are “beautiful.”

Sometimes, some of us don’t have that many “parts” to begin with, but that doesn’t affect beauty. Today, she has many “parts.” Tomorrow, she may lose it all. But does that have anything to do with who she is as a person?

I suppose we like to think ugly, cruel people have some deficiency in their minds, bodies, or life. But that isn’t how it works. Because you just don’t know. Maybe that person that seems broken (lost their home, their children, etc.) and missing something has far more beauty about her (or him) than ther perfectly put together person. Maybe the person who has all the pieces of their life fitted together is, in fact, crying and bitter on the inside.

You can’t recognize ugly people by the “wholeness” and “fullness” of their life.

Ugliness has nothing to do with how “full” you are as a person. It has to do with how you use the “fullness” of you. Ugly people are not always easily recognized, like Disney villians with recognizable twisty beards or high pitched voices.

Because whatever a person may be going through, their character and beauty as a person does not change. Perhaps we can stop telling others what “beautiful” people are, or are not, and merely appreciate beauty when we see it.

True beauty isn’t something we need to define. Please don’t tell someone what a beautiful person is or isn’t. Because we don’t need that kind of comparison. We just need to do the best we have with what we’ve got.

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

it’s rarely too late, but you can never get back time

The years you spend unhappy, the years you spend swallowed up in pride– you never get that time back.

I would love to lie and sell you a fantasy, but you’ll only wake up from the dream and it will turn into your nightmare. And so I ask this of each and every person out there:

When you know yourself, do not compromise on who you are.

I am not saying you have to know everything about yourself. But every time you learn a new puzzle piece, accept it and embrace it. Becoming at peace with ourselves is, I believe, what happiness is all about. Or perhaps contentment is a more accurate word. But contentment is a wonderful foundation to happiness.

Because I do not want this to be your story. I do not want you, ten, twenty years later, to find yourself trying to make someone else accept and love you for who you are– because you thought you could let that part of yourself fall by the wayside and now you desperately miss this piece of yourself.

But what if you can’t?

What if you wake up, ten years down the line, and you are so full of despair that you pack up your bags and tell your spouse, “This person, who I never told you about, this is me. And if you don’t like me, than I’m leaving.”

Because that happened to my friend. She was lucky; her husband was equally unhappy and grateful that she had spoken and broken the silence. But the girl in the story above? She wasn’t so lucky. And you simply do not know which one will be your story.

Oh, you cannot control everything!

You cannot predict the future, nor know what kind of person you will become one day. But I believe you can, slowly but surely, reveal yourself for the person you are— and as that person comes to be, I hope you embrace them and love them. And just as importantly, you bring people close to you that also love and embrace you. For who you are, not who they want you to be.

Settling is not always a bad thing- depending on what you’re settling for. You think, you know what, that guy is pretty awesome. He isn’t six foot tall; he has baggage; she isn’t as pretty as you hoped for.

But please don’t settle on what truly matters! Because there are some things you cannot give up without paying a price.

Like the line from Doctor Strange says, “The bill always comes due.”

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon from Pexels

my scars are my erogenous zone

Some women see their scars as flaws. Some accept them as a part of life. I…love my scars. They are memories drawn on my skin.

I have, in fact, a soft spot for the differences that are my scars. Because you may not realize this little known fact about scars, but at least in my case…

My scar is my favorite erogenous zone.

It’s softer than silk, and it responds to temperature and texture– you wouldn’t ever think this was a benefit of scarring, would you?

Sometime I forget about it, until someone runs their fingers over it, reminding me of the tingle it causes to run through my body. Other times I remember to ask the person, please don’t neglect this bit of me. It feels amazing.

I didn’t always feel this way.

I used to be ashamed of it. Hide it. I hated wearing swimsuits, because they obviously exposed that jagged mark across my body. People would ask questions, and I didn’t like the attention. Especially since I had it from a relatively young age.

I didn’t fully appreciate it. I thought it was an error on my body. But as my technical friends would say, “It’s not an error, it’s a feature.” Indeed, it is.

So, hey, whatever flaws you think diminish you? Perhaps they enhance you. Make you special, unique, beautiful. Don’t worry about being the “same” as everyone else. None of us are the “same.” We all have our quirks.

What stories are imprinted upon your body?

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

if i wanted to date a perfect (ly boring) body, i’d date a sex bot

Kitty must confess. She has set her sights on someone for very shallow reasons. With no intention of understanding their mind, their curiosity, their intellect. Just wanting them for their raw sexual appeal.

But not often.

I am not sure I am so odd in my views on pretty girls and pretty boys. Do you watch “The Good Place”? Remember Kristen Bell’s second soulmate? The really hot guy who constantly strips down and goes, “I’m going to the gym!” every time she tries to talk to him about feelings? Pretty boys might be good people; but it cannot be denied that many rely on Being Pretty (or Handsome or Sexy or….)

I understand I may be completely unfair towards classically beautiful folk. But Pretty Girls somehow never have the time for me, or anyone. The last Hot Guy I met in person couldn’t find time to hook up with me, because he was, funny you ask, too busy going to the gym (and cheating on his other girls). I can’t remember a single notable fun fact about him, except that I know he worked out almost every day. And I usually remember his name.

Time after time I am disappointed by the Hot Guy.

By now, I almost automatically flick off my “interested” switch if I think you are too good looking for me. I see lip service paid all the time to this thinking, but I need intellectual stimulation before physical. I just can’t get into you, based solely on physique and facial features. Oh, I’ll talk to anyone. I might spend a fair amount of time with you, the prettiest girl in the room. But if you neglect to engage my mind, my focus will drift.

Pretty Girl, can you be more than that? Can you be a beautiful mind, as well? Because otherwise? If all you can offer me is your looks? I’m not interested.

I have options these days, if all I want is a hot body.

I can buy a pretty body for not too much, especially if I only want it for a night. Oh, and sex bots are becoming more and more affordable. You think your physical “flaws” are weakness and an obstacle to overcome? Well, a sex bot has perfect skin, perky boobs, full lips, large eyes that drink you in. Just $20,000.

She isn’t quite a girlfriend replacement, but she’s quite reliable. And as the guy says in the video, “Creating a companion that you can program physically, that won’t lie to you, that will be honest, that has no malice…in twenty years, this will be normal.”

From a certain perspective, Perfect Sex Bot is a catch.

She’s prettier than I am– by Hollywood standards. I have scars. I have a round face that squishes unflatteringly in photos. My teeth are a little off. I am not short, but I am no Amazonian goddess.

Sex Doll is safe. She will even converse with you. She’ll never alienate your children against you, never lie to you, never hurt you. Never spend all your money. She doesn’t have the ability, let alone the desire. She is all your dreams. You can play with her as long as you like and she’ll never complain.

Dolls are fun to play with, of course. You can pose them in ridiculous positions. Pour one’s heart out to them, without having to listen in return. When one is out of spoons, the doll can provide guilt free comfort. I cannot say that isn’t appealing.

The thing is, I stopped playing with dolls a long time past.

I don’t judge any adult that wants to play with toys. I do so myself. But I don’t want to date my dolls. I don’t see them as perfect. I see them as weird defiances of physics.

As perfect as she is, the relationship can fall flat after a while. She never bothers to ask you about your peskiest insecurities and wildest hopes. She can’t tell when you are just a little bit sad and wistful and hoping for someone to see you and give you that little bit of comfort that you need. Say, an unexpected soft kiss on the shoulder. Because Sex Doll is great, but she’s still a doll.

I’d rather play with people. I have my own preferences when it comes to physical types, but I’d rather converse with someone who fascinates me from the inside out. And I do not need you to look like a doll (especially if you want to be treated as one)! And if you do, well, that’s only enough to catch my glance momentarily. I still need you to open up; talk to me; show me what you are inside, far more than skin deep.

Trust in yourself. If you need to hear this today, please listen to me. You. Are. Beautiful. But that is not enough. I need More.

Photo by Ruvim from Pexels

i might be mary poppins

I am not perfect, by any means. But when I strain my recollection, as far back as I can remember, I cannot isolate a single incident of ever wanting to be anyone but me. I’ve never watched a romantic comedy and thought anything but, “That was fun, but thank God I’m not that person. I like my own romantic life much better.”

I’ve never been envious of celebrities. If anything, I respect many of them, but I also pity them a bit. For always having someone on their case about their hair, their teeth, everything. Especially the ones that got fucked up as child actors.

I am, truly, happiest being myself.

I have a penchant for chocolates from this one chocolate shop. I don’t know if it’s the best chocolate; I just like the people and the shop. Being in that shop makes me crave chocolates, not because I need sweets, but because of their passion towards chocolate making. Chocolate is who they are.

I hardly have lesser expectations when it comes to my interactions with people. I think being “me” whoever you are is amazing. I want to talk about whatever you are most passionate and knowledgeable. Sure, we can talk about other things, but I definitely want to learn about your most “you” qualities and interests.

I just have one teensy, tiny confession. I am sincere when I say I wouldn’t switch lives with anyone–

But I might want to be Mary Poppins.

I don’t know if Mary Poppins is a faerie, an alien, a witch, or something else entirely. I’ve read all, or most, of the stories– and I’m still uncertain of Who She Is. I don’t think anyone knows. I am, however, fairly sure I could be happy being her. No regrets.

I imagine myself soaring through the air with my fantastic magic carpetbag and an umbrella to shade me from the harsh sun. Until I found a home and children for whom to care and help nuture relationships between themselves, their parents, and their family.

I feel like I could be everything that is me, but with magical abilities.

I try, in my own little way, to create my own magic. Still, it might be a little easier as Mary Poppins. I’d stick gold paper stars on the sky to create new constellations. I’d take my friends on an adventure and explore all of a town’s graffiti.

I could be my most caring, loving self– but with a little extra help. I am an AWESOME mom, aunt, friend, artist, and partner– and I know it. Yes, that can make me a bit arrogant, but I know my value (as does Mary Poppins.) I am the person that people feel comfortable confiding in. I’ll listen, and if you ask, I will stay quiet and let you do all the talking– but at the same time I’ll assess the situation to offer practical advice proven to work in similar situations.

I’d be the person to help you through your day. Add a spoonful of sugar to your sour moments. I’d hold you and comfort you to sleep. Of course one of my lacking qualities is that I likely couldn’t stay forever. Yet I would stay you with for a while, as long as you needed to be able to care for yourself without me around. Or perhaps a very long time. Until the wind changes…

…who would you be if you could?

Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels

knowing my beauty

I closed my eyes last night, and I thought about what I like best.  Not of the world, or of my life.  Simply of myself.  I’m indulging in asseessing what I love most, just about me. Tonight, I’m loving me. I love my eyes, that hold a secret. My hair, soft, full, and rich. And I love so, so much more…

I love that I can love anyone, male or female, classically beautiful, quirky and unusual. 

I love that I can love many and nobody (that I care about) will tell me that I can’t. My only restrictions in making a connection with a person are if they fail to meet my standards on intelligence (not limited to any one kind of intelligence), kindness, and openness.

I love that I am someone with whom others feel a strong urge to be honest and forthcoming.

I met a friend, just the other day, who told me that she’s honored that I opened up to her so quickly. “I was only returning the favor,” I said, “You dropped all pretenses with me straightaway.” “So I did,” she responded, “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

I love that I’m still a child at heart.

I’ve been told that I am “kind of an adult and kind of a kid,” and I am quite proud of that. I do realize I need to grow up a little and be a little more adult some days– but at least I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be a kid and I think kids appreciate that. Which makes me a natural caregiver.

I love that I’m not scared to take on challenges or push myself beyond my comfort zone.

To fail. To be silly. Because I’m so much more than I would be otherwise, because of the times I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable. Just taking off on an adventure is half the battle.

I love being me. 

I am so grateful that I am who I am.  I know that I am lucky to be such a perfect fit with the person that is me.  

Tonight, I am grateful.    

If nobody has ever stood you in front of a mirror, describing every tiny bit of you that is beautiful, do that for yourself. Please. Indulge yourself in recognizing your own beauty.

You are worth it. And you are beautiful.

Photo by Edward Eyer from Pexels

thank you for not abandoning me when i lied to you

I didn’t tell you the truth.

Yes, I should have done so. I shouldn’t have wavered or stumbled over my meaning. I knew I should have done better.

I should not have lied to people who mattered to me. I shouldn’t have lied to those who didn’t matter very much at all.

I should not have lied to protect another’s feelings. Mine, as it turns out, were worth protecting more. I failed myself when I did not stand up for me. When I caved to a lie I should never have said. I should not have lied when I was scared, insecure, or worried about how you would feel about me.

I believe generosity makes the world a better place.

“My only rule is don’t lie to me.” “Be honest and I’ll work with you on anything. Lie to me and I walk.” “I don’t mind cheating, I just mind the lying.”

I no longer want anything to do with that kind of hard line thinking, even when I believe you mean it (and I’ve met plenty that said they wanted honesty, yet rewarded those who were dishonest with them over those who were honest). But let’s say you mean it.

I don’t want to surround myself with that level of arrogance (and God knows I, and my friends, have plenty of that, but even we have some humility!) Some of us, perhaps, have never lied to anyone. Not even ourselves. I’ll admit I’ve not run into these people, but anything, as they say, is possible. I suppose all those rules work quite well for them.

I need you to have your standards, yes, or you won’t be strong enough for me. But I need you to have flexibility, too, and forgiveness. Because, in the long run, we all need that from each other– and when it comes your turn to mess up, I hope someone is kind to you.

Thank you for your kindness.

Thank God, you didn’t have these hard limits. When I screwed up, you saw me as a good person. You decided that everyone makes mistakes. You figured telling a lie does not ruin someone as a human being.

When you messed up and lied to me about one thing or another, I, likewise, forgave you. Because I saw the reason for the lie, and you showed me you were going to work on it. I knew it wouldn’t keep happening again and again, and one slip was not going to make me throw everything away.

“Everyone” says it’s easy to be honest.

Indeed, it is quite simple. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. It isn’t just that we’ve grown up in a society built on lies- and while we are getting better, we still have far to go– but that it can genuinely be hard to be open, honest, and trusting. And I expect that everyone should do a pretty good job of it– but I won’t tarnish a person from one slip up.

Let’s try to be better than we were before. Let’s stop patterns of lying, because it’s too easy to fall into a life where you can’t stop lying about anything. I think we can do that. Let’s make it a point of telling the truth, if for no other reason than we deserve that for ourselves.

I am one of the lucky ones who is finally in a place where I am privileged enough to be honest with whomever I please (for the most part.)

In some cases, I was protecting you from the truth (all “yous” in this piece are not referring to the same “you”). In some cases, I did not trust you with the truth. In some cases, I played with your feelings. In some cases, I was too overwhelmed to have proper care for your consideration.

I know I won’t resort to lying, anymore, because if I can’t speak the truth, I won’t say anything at all. I don’t need any more than I already have, and if it means a lie, I’d rather move on And I won’t be around people who want me to lie (I used to make this mistake.)

Of course, I’ll have to deceive polite society to a certain degree. I can’t avoid that entirely, without exposing myself or– at times– oversharing details that the general public doesn’t care about. But I won’t bother lying to anyone I care about, no, not professional relationship, familial, or anything. If I cannot tell the truth, I will not say anything at all. Or stay within bland conversation, “How is life?” “Oh, life is great!”

Stop fucking telling her to “Let the words fall out,” when saying what she wants to say means losing everything that matters to her.

Perhaps I am jaded, but I don’t believe in Sara Bareilles‘”Brave,” anymore. It used to annoy me, now it infuriates me. It’s often easy for those with privilege to be honest. It’s even easier for those with nothing to lose.

But the very most privileged among us can still face consequences, and I won’t judge or shame that. And what of those of us who haven’t even figured out what we want? Should we be pressed to tell a truth we don’t even know?

We learn and grow and find ways to be more honest, as we show a better way of living.

Is that not good enough? To slip up on occasion, but continue to do better? To mess up entirely, but recognize that we’ve done wrong and move forward? If I held every lie my loved ones had said about me, against them, I would lose some of my most cherished relationships. Because we don’t always mean what we say. And sometimes we have to forgive.

It’s something I’m eternally grateful to the kink community– for showing a more honest way of living. And, yes, our community is riddled with predators and abusers and I hate it, but, God, at least it’s better than the sugar coated society that also happens to be similarly inundated with the the worst of humanity.

Thank you for allowing me to be human and to be better than I was yesterday.

Photo by Skitterphoto from Pexels

kitty learns to take a compliment

Far too often, I am suspicious of compliments. 

I don’t even know why.  Why I get defensive and critical when someone says something nice to me.  While when someone says something nasty to me— or, let’s be honest, about me, because bullies are cowards— I hurl myself at the person to convince them they are wrong and I am a good person. Which is honestly a best case scenario.

Because also— I am stupid and worthless. So, of course the person saying the cruel statement is probably correct and that person saying something nice about me? Why would you say something nice about me, I’m stupid, you’re obviously stupid too!  Which is how I’ll react when I’m in less of a good place.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

Human nature will tell me that this is a form of protection. Suppose we allow ourselves to believe something nice said about ourselves– only for that person to take advantage of our relaxed guard to stab us in the back. Because that happens, you know. People have certainly done it to me before. It makes sense to take protective measures.

Except sometimes it gets a little (read: crazily) out of hand. Someone can be nice to me for years, put their own self at risk, do crazy things for me– and I still look at them with suspicious eyes.

As if they will one day jump at me and exclaim, “Hah, all those kind and loving words for the last decade…all those acts of service for you…it was all a clever plot to gain your trust and love so that today I can tell you that I really hate you! Hah!” Don’t I feel the stupid one, right?

I do believe nice things– said about other people. 

It’s quite funny, but I believe almost every nice word said— when it’s not about me.  It’s true.  Even the worst person in my life, well, if they say something loving I instinctively believe it. I can believe that the most hardened criminal is capable of good.  The mastermind criminal in Daredevil? Sure, he’s a murderer, but I believe he meant every loving word spoken to his girlfriend. Why would he lie about that?

It’s one reason I need a protector.  You can treat me like dirt, but if you come back and are nice, I instinctively want to believe you’ve changed.  I need someone to smack me (mentally) and say, Hey, Kitty, remember what they did?  Maybe don’t be quite so trusting this time around.

I don’t know that I’ll ever change, but I listen to my friends who say I’m a good person and counteract the negativity.

Because you just never know how anyone really feels about you. So maybe we ought to default to giving the positive benefit of the doubt?

It’s very true that when compliments are strewn about thoughtlessly, it can be hard to believe them. They only said that to get attention.  They are building their brand.  They are trying to get elected. But I do believe we ought to try to believe the sincere compliments, the long term kindnesses.

Because it doesn’t matter if the masses of compliments are fake and manipulative. We can’t control that.

Our friends and close loved ones?

We need to believe them.

Because they are who matter. Because they are the ones who know us. So why are we listening to those who don’t know us? My littlest one tells me, “I’m so lucky to have you and Papa.” That’s who I need to believe. Wisdom from a child.

I believe, ought to try to focus on the good things said about us, rather than the negative. To receive compliments warmly, rather than with distrust. Listen to the good words. Don’t ignore the bad, but do listen to them with a grain of salt and as a caution to improve oneself but not as a damning statement of one’s self worth.

Just some food for thought.

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

if they offer you “almost everything,” take it

Some women swoon over a man who says he will give her “everything.”  I swoon over the man who says he will give me “almost everything.”

I’m more likely to mock you than kiss you for saying, “You are my goddess for all eternity, your breasts are divine and your legs are the most perfect I’ve ever seen.”  Please. 

You wouldn’t recognize my legs over another pretty girl’s if twenty thousand dollars lay on the line.    

“Almost everything.”

In Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie offers Mary Austin “almost everything.” I think he meant everything but romance. Marriage. Perhaps even sex.

I wonder about their relationship. Mary, his first love, is still alive. I could theoretically ask her. All I know is that she remained his friend, even after she married someone else. She stayed in his life. Upon his death, she received half of his 75 million pound estate. Pretty generous for “just” a friend.

My partner, M, offered me “almost everything.” Funny, because, over time, “almost everything” crept closer and closer to “everything. Like a limit approaching zero, but not quite every reaching zero (although obviously zero here does not represent “nothing.”)

One “thing” always stayed off the table. Marriage. Everything but marriage. Luckily, for Mary and myself, we didn’t need that. At least not from everyone we love. There’s a lot to a relationship with someone, aside from that piece of paper. But sometimes people still got confused on how I could say I had it all without that. Fortunately, I am not confused. So it works for me.

Offer me “everything,” and I will demand “everything.”

If you offer me everything, you better damn well mean it. I don’t mean it as code for marriage, engagement rings, and a dozen red roses. I mean, everything.

Buy me a home in every city I love. Filled with everything I could ever want or use. I want crafted coffees delivered to me every afternoon. Buy me all the clothes. Give me a life where I don’t have to go outside, except when I want to do so. But also one where I get to spontaneously travel to any country of my choosing, because I want that, too. Where I adventure at a moment’s notice. Also, I want every cool gadget known to man, even though I full know that two thirds of them don’t work or will break in a half hour. Also, that’s just a start. Because I’m used to already having quite a lot of this. But, hey, you can’t have too much of a good thing, right? Do all my chores for me, so I never have to lift a finger….and…oh, you think that’s enough already? I can go on, if you like.

Don’t want to do this for me? Doesn’t appeal to you? Huh. I’m stunned. Shocked even. But, hey, good on you for standing up for yourself. It’s probably for the best.

Because God damn if I’ll give you everything in return.

I’m not going to drain myself, physically, financially, or emotionally, to prove my love. If you need that from me, move on. I have partners, family, dependents. Heck, I have myself to take care of, you know. You can’t get everything from me.

But I just might offer you “almost everything.” If we’re worth it to each other. Because if you did that for me, and you meant it? You’d take my breath away. It’s only right that I offer it in return.

So, just give me almost everything.

In fact, you can just give me almost nothing. I know I want, and have, and desire, a lot. Can we start with just a little? Basic human courtesy and kindness. It’s surprising how few people can manage even that. Do you know what it means to me when you, a stranger, stop and take the time to say, “Hello. How are you feeling today?” and listen to what I say?

I don’t need or want a white knight or fancy, empty promises. It’s too easy to say words that sound great, but don’t mean anything.

Give me one real thing. One real, beautiful thing about you and me. That is worth us giving up everything else, in that moment, to share that moment. And many moments to come.

That is everything I need right now. At least as a start.