The Right Kind of Love

I looked at this man and I felt free for the first time in my life.

Even though I had just met him, my whole body felt warm in his presence. All I could think about was how this man made me feel like I was the only woman he could see. Like he couldn't take his eyes off me.

His soft gaze met mine. "Are you okay?" He whispered softly. I nodded, unable to speak. He moved closer to me. I could see the concern he felt for me. I noticed how each movement he made was so deliberate and slow, like he didn't want to take me by surprise. I watched his hand move to my cheek, stretching from the side of my face to his fingers grazing my neck.

"Is this okay?" He asked again, softer, barely a whisper between us. Breathless, I nodded again. He moved closer. Comforted, I closed my eyes, moving my face toward his hand. His thumb made circles on my cheek as his fingers caressed my neck. My heart skipped as his other hand reached my waist where my shirt had lifted a little.

He pulled my shirt down to the top of my jeans as if he knew I couldn't handle too much at the same time and then rested his hand on top. His face was so close to mine by now that I could feel his breath in mine. His nose grazed mine softly before his lips brushed against my lips.

"Is this.." he began, again. But I took a step closer to him, melding our bodies into one. At first he hesitated, but then I felt it.

I felt it like the warmth of the sun early in the morning. Like the flutter of the wings of a butterfly. Soft, but controlled like he didn't want to expect too much from me. He kissed me like I was glass, one crack away from breaking. He would kiss me, once softly, then pull me closer and go a bit deeper. Then he would soften again and slow down like he didn't know if I was going to stop him.

But how could I tell him that every inch of my skin was begging for more. Because each time he kissed me, my whole body felt it. Like each kiss was an apology for all the pain I've ever felt, each kiss was slowly healing me and making me whole again.

"I'm so sorry" he said suddenly. And that's when I realized my face was wet. I had been crying. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I said wiping my tears with a smile, "nothing has ever felt more right"

The Wrong Kind of Love

"Hey..You're home." I said, eyes heavy. I had been waiting up for him because I knew he hated coming home to an empty house.
He grunted, his jaw tight and clenched.
"You okay?" I asked, eyebrows raised with a little concern and a little wary.
"I'm fine." He snapped, his eyes fiercely locked with mine. I looked at my husband and my whole body shuddered.

Deep breath, I reminded myself. He's just upset. He probably just had a bad day.

Silent and lips tightly pursed together,  I nodded, bracing myself for his anger. His eyebrows scrunched together. I waited, wondering if today would be one of those days... Instead he let out a heavy sigh, as if he too was just tired of all of this. Too tired to take out his anger on me. He walked into our bedroom, changed and went to sleep. But I stayed there on the sofa, hoping he wouldn't call out to me, summoning me to bed. I prayed I wouldn't have to pretend to feel comfortable lying in bed next to him again tonight.

He wasn't always like this, I reminded myself. I remember a time when his words were so sweet they made my heart melt. When his pull on me was so strong, so intense that nothing else, no one else mattered. I fought my friends, my family, my whole world for him.

 I left them all behind because they told me he wasn't right for me. Because they couldn't see him like I did. They couldn't see see the look in his eyes that yearned for me. They couldn't hear his sweet, soft voice as he whispered in my ear, "I need you in my life. Babe you make me whole. I don't know what I would do without you." They couldn't see it. They just didn't understand.

He wasn't the way they all thought he was. They looked at him and they saw this rough and harsh man. They saw his sharp jaw and rugged beard. They saw the scar above his left eyebrow and the callouses on his hands. They saw anger in his eyes. But that's not who I saw. I looked at him and I could see his hurt and his pain. I could remember his tears on my shirt as he cried into my stomach telling me about how his mom left him and he couldn't lose me too. I remember feeling in that moment that I would do whatever it took to take care of him. He needed me and I couldn't possibly imagine leaving him.