My Reason for Living

“To live is an awfully big adventure.” – J.M. Barrie

An adventure that we should never deprive ourselves from.


Our conversation came to a soft lull and we carefully sipped our coffee.
In comfortable silence, we waited in the quiet pause.
It was like when we first met, slightly awkward but strangely comforting. We were complete in our silence but we were so desperate for words, grasping for more.
You smiled so softly, across the kitchen table and it made me smile too.
You gently traced the rim of the mug with your fingers and I watched them dance so gracefully. I became mesmerized as if you were casting a spell.
I remember the sun sheepishly peaking through the curtains to see if we were doing okay. I remember the air feeling so fresh and warm between us.
Conversation would pick back up so smoothly and our days went in that rhythmic wave. We were so content within each other’s presence and it was like I’ve known you for all my life and just that feeling was an honor that I did not quite know how to handle.
I sat there in admiration of you and everything we had become over time.
I remember rolling up my sleeves without thought and you stopped mid sentence and you fell uncomfortably quiet. I looked up at you and you were fixated on my arms, on my scars.
You slowly reached over and traced the scars with your gentle fingers.
“How?” you asked but you already knew the answer.
I didn’t answer, I pulled away but you grabbed my hands in such a fluid motion that I forgot to resist and I felt the tears rush up and I tugged my armor on as I got my sword at the ready. A war raged behind my eyes.
“I’m so happy you’re here right now.” You whispered into my hands as you drew them to your face.
Suddenly I heard the dropping of metal, the clanking of shields ceased, and my heart fell through the trap door of my soul.
I suddenly realized that my entire existence was waiting for this exact moment. In that second, my scars began to heal. I don’t know why but those words crashed into my skin and shattered under the pressure of the wave.
Then I felt your tears and the last support of the dam broke free and I was no longer myself. The realization of the heaviness of my own self-inflicted scars was too much for my physical being to bear.
If I had died, if I had succeeded that night, if the darkness swallowed me whole instead of spitting me back up, I would’ve never met you and there was a certain amount of shame that came with that. It broke my heart to imagine a world where I wouldn’t be sitting here with you in your kitchen in comfortable silence, in comfortable bliss. I think it broke yours too.

That was the day I told you I loved you for the first time.
That was the day I realized what it meant to love myself as well.
Even though time has passed and you are no longer mine, I still remember the touch of your hands as if you were pulling me out of the abyss that I fell into many years back. Loving myself did not come easily but the way you held my hands paved the way for me to realize how important it was to live. Your love made me realize how important it is to keep fighting. In hopes of meeting another you, in hopes of never missing out on the beautiful moments of life, I learned to love myself.

-j.l

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