A lover is nothing if not a mirror of your soul.
Pup and I spent another glorious day together. It was in a word, magnificent.
But it didn’t start out that way. God no, it couldn’t have started out worse.
Pup wakes up every day at 6:00 a.m. That’s when he responds to my texts and phone messages. And last night I was on a tear. So, at 6:00 a.m. I received a barrage of texts pointing out what a boor I was, that he’d listened to my voice messages, that he’d been busy all day with school and work, and why didn’t I just chill.
You see, I’d once again shot myself in my proverbial foot.
I’m impatient. Boorishly impatient. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a day job; I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be stretched for a time; I’ve forgotten what it’s like to try and dovetail a lover into an already hectic lifestyle.
We were having a pissing match!
And Pup can lay into me as pointedly as I lay into him.
We, Pup and I, are now mirroring each other. We’re picking up on each other’s anguish and anger.
“Why” I shouted at him via text, “do you make it so fucking difficult to love you?”
“I fear love,” Pup returned.
“You frustrate the piss out of me,” I reacted, “No one fears love, Matthew. They fear hurt. Love and hurt come in the same package. The difference between love and hurt is trust!”
“Love is hard for me,” he replied quietly, “I trust most people, and I know I trust you.”
Pup and I are like most people. We’re afraid of being hurt by expressing how much we care about the other. It’s exposing; it’s raw; it’s unblemished. And yes, it’s terribly frightening.
But once our chest-thumping is done, once we’re finished biting at each other, we calm down and talk cooly, intimately.
“I love you for who you are,” I’ve told Pup. “However you are. Maybe that makes me weak.”
“No,” Pup said softly, “I think it shows how strong you are.”
I love that Pup.