For #62

    If you ask me when I really knew, I’d have to sit you down. There are so many instances that consolidate my feelings, so many tender, seemingly irrelevant moments that I wrap in boxes with purple ribbons, to revisit on difficult days. My demons were monstrous, but his were strong. His would take each irrational, illogical, highly erratic thought and deconstruct it, then systematically reveal all the bullshit surrounding my anxiety. It was all strangely therapeutic. Every nuance of his being fought my terrors, and cradled my fears till they’d surrender. He’d hush the voices and heal the wounds, draw the blinds and free the moon. The truth of what we shared was sinister. I needed saving and he’d found solace in doing just that. But what was most frightening was the peace we discovered in each other, oblivious to the reality outside of us.

    So if you ask me when I really knew, I suppose I’d have to sit you down, but if you ask me how I knew, I’d tell you this – when his demons vanquish in the face of mine, and are ballsy enough to enter the darkest of minds, you just know. You just know because feeling safe is now a state of being, and sunset doesn’t scare anymore. You just know because he’s there and his presence is whole and he cleans out his shelves when you need a break from your own miseries.

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