to be loved

to be loved and to love,
simply as you are.

for the inherent validity
of your humanity.

to be desired,
supported and safe.

to dare a bigger life.

to share a love
modeled on God’s
love for us,
is all that should be asked,
it is really quite simple.

can love begin in an instant?

can two know and fearlessly dive in?

is the story of meeting


and committing to forever


Is that bravery left in the world?

Love letter

I like that my smile lights up a room and my eyes tell stories. My breasts sustained a life for six months without hesitation. I honor them and am in awe of their perkiness and power. My shoulders are strong and have a beautiful line, but I love my hands.

I love my hands the best because they tell stories and hold memory in ways I can’t explain. My hands give pleasure and have caught babies. These ten digits have launched aircraft and made the most delicate gnocchi. With my hands I’ve soothed sick children and held the face of lovers. My hands clasp in prayer and splay in ecstasy. My hands rub my feet and hold a warm cup of tea after hours of exploring on cold winter days. And on those nights that I feel too tired, if I haven’t held a pen to paper, my hands ache for the need to tell my story and I cannot sleep until I comply with their need to remember the day. Yes, I love my hands- they are the tellers, guides, and creators of a well-lived life.

Warning signals

This is how people get swindled. If you are in business and you have invested in a start-up, but it isn’t creating return, you don’t keep investing. You recognize you’ve lost a gamble and you move on. However, if there’s a really great frontman, they expertly tie the hook, run the line, and begin the cast. Sending you out and back with hopes of being part of the greatest success story. But, in a swindle, the story to end all stories ends with you over investing and losing more than you bargained for.

We had been so close to launching what felt like The Greatest Love Story ever. To let us go tore me to my core- in a way I had never experienced losing a lover. With him, I’d lost so much on my investment, but kept going back because our good days were pure magic. Finally, I couldn’t keep losing. I ended our relationship, deleted his numbers and cut all social media contact. I stopped making the coffee we shared- Cuban-style espresso with hand creamed sugar. I stopped baking the bread recipe we shared. I changed habits and forced myself to try dating and, after some time, finally stopped missing him everyday. After seven months of zero contact and new routines I was finally back in the black. I’d found myself and was truly content. Then, due to a friend of a friend situation, I let curiosity get the best of me. I sent one email. We made one decision to have dinner. With a hug and hello it all came back.

When it was good between us it was so good, it was ethereal. Then he would cast me out, shut down with no explanation, and I would feel confused because nothing had been wrong- he just needed space- then he’d draw me back with the grace of a professional fly fisherman. He never wanted to catch me, it seems, just enjoyed the sport of having me close.

I wanted to feel our magic again. I ignored the memory of being cast out and let the good overtake. I had a sliver of hope that after seven months he was ready for the magic. We sat down to dinner. He ordered cava and oysters and I finally asked if he was seeing anyone. In fact he was, but nothing serious he said, only dating a few months and, yes, they did go to Mexico, but only because he had an extra flight voucher.

I told him I still loved him because part of me does- the hopeless romantic that surfaces around beauty and good food and talk of a better world. He said he still loved me, but I could see him setting the cast- pulling me in with hope, but lining up his exits. Of course I wish I were wrong, but this isn’t a movie script and I now see that he’s no happy ending. I realize now, I wasn’t for him what he was for me and in the last seven months he hasn’t grown into what I need, but rather he’s moved on.

He’s found a new river, a younger fish with two children. Soon he can worry over whether they accept him or not. He can say he’s so happy, but … He can cast and pull and she can swim under the shadows of his line. Perhaps their story will end differently or perhaps he will always fish for sport.