With my head rested on your chest I hear your steady pulse.
It's not like any I've heard, and for a moment I think about how it sounds almost like a caricature of a heartbeat. Something we know is meant to be a heart but isn't quite the same.
I look up to you wondering if you're aware that you have a 90's style cartoon heart and you look down at me saying, "I hope you always keep that look in your eyes when you stare at me." I don't know how I'm looking at you but I have the same hope.
People wear me down and exhaust me. You seem to exhaust me a little less.
I dread finding moments of comfort outside of solitude. I separate myself from my feeling of bodily inadequacy, losing myself in thought. In those moments I get to live blissfully unaware of how I could be perceived by others. Always when I'm with a partner, though, the moment comes when they turn to me and I can feel myself stiffen as the words pour out of their mouth, "You look beautiful, do you know that?"
It doesn't feel like a compliment. It feels like a rock in my chest. A reminder that no matter how I conquer my mind, I'll always be subject to how others view me. To them my body and brain are and always will be intertwined. I never feel comfortable and safe.
But laying next to you, lost in a conversation and laughing, you give me that same look. Internally I recoil, waiting for the blow. "I love how dorky you are" is what comes out. I can't remember the last time someone complimented me for something other than how they find me aesthetically pleasing.
I'm can't explain what this means to me, but I'm so relieved when you take my hand. Whether we're sitting across from each other at the restaurant or laying side by side in bed, fingers intertwined softly, I know its not the same.
