Disarm

I did not leave my fear at the door.

I could not.

But neither do I allow it to enter your house before me.

My jerkin and mail, boot knife and pistol; these I do not carry. These I have left with my boots on the porch.

My scars are bare. I do not hide them or show them. If you ask me, I will tell you their stories.

And so yes, I did bring my fear. Let it sit here beside me. Acknowledged but not obeyed, or conceded, or even in any way engaged. But allowed just to witness.

Let’s touch each other gently. Let’s find one another’s places; most soft and sclerotic. And love them both with the same tender curiosity that says only “I see you, thank you, please stay”

Then, I think, my fear and yours will show themselves out.

And we can get on with love.

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