Someone asked me today how I knew I was good. I had to think about it for a moment, because healing is more emotional than it is cognitive.

I explained that for some time now, there has been no sadness anywhere, that I couldn’t even remember when I was last sad for either myself or for the situation itself. That my only remaining thoughts are of gratitude to find myself here, rather than there. That there is literally zero longing. And finally, that…whatever happens in the life of the other is no longer of actual concern.

I write that out without any feelings associated with the words; this itself is an expression of the emotional Fin of the situation.

The above are the things which are no more. What is more important than them is what is now present again – I have been filled with hope. Very distinctly since arriving in Paris. Believe it or not, this is not because I am surrounded by love-birds, because I just came from Ramrooma and Omar’s literal cuddle-fest. Rather, it is because something has shifted these past two months, and it has placed me squarely back at Believing In Love.

Want to roll your eyes even harder? I Believe In Love With Someone Extra Extra Extraordinary.

In November, my Trumpet was sitting next to me feeding me banana bread, holding my hand, and saying “I am love. This is what I do. I love. It is what I have been put on this earth to do. And that’s who you are too, Maha.”

I remember recognizing myself in her words, but not being able to feel them then. I wanted to so badly, but I was simply incapable. Too terrified to open my heart up again, even to the possibility of myself, the one who is so soft in love.

People have told me that I have a very romanticized perspective on love. That after marriage, everything goes to shit. That I should start with low expectations, and that I should then lower them even harder. That being with a partner is not a big deal. That we are all alone even inside of most relationships.

But I can’t get there. In fact, I don’t want to get there. I want to go back to myself, though slightly modified – the one seen as naïve. The one who wants to love until death do us part (takbeer! lols). I was for a few months, the one dulled and with low expectations, and that was not a space I occupy naturally.

My natural resting place is to believe in the softness of being in love. To see it as a gentle space which, though it must have challenges and sometimes miscommunications, should serve as bubble-wrap against an often-times awful and unjust world.

A commitment for me is a place where I can rest my head on his chest and know I am safely held. It is a place where he can rest his in the palm of my hands, and know that he is safest held. That there will not be a time when we need this, only to discover that the other has abandoned us.

This is neither silly nor unreal. It is a thing to which I wish to aspire. Unapologetically, and with a NOPE to all men who can’t get here.

My lessons are learned from last summer. Those, they hold fast. But everything else, it remains the same. Most importantly, the part of me who wants to swap with the right man our little hearts, knowing that the beats will be tended to and never dropped.

Also, a lot of laughs, and the sexing. (Thanks, God!)

I am heart-full to be standing on Dreaming isn’t just for sleep, loves. (Though you might have to pass Go a few times to get there, and that’s okay.)

Today, I am grateful for:
1. The morning’s first stretch.
2. My quiet snowy day, filled with video chat catch-ups, home cooked food, books, journals, candles, and music.
3. Overnight messages.

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