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Believe Me When I Tell You
Believe me when I tell you I’m in love. It’s whole and fortifying and good. Believe me when I stand in the quiet knowledge of that love. That it’s something which never needs explanation or standardization. It’s pure and I know it. I live it.
Believe me when I tell you it hasn’t always been this way. There were lesser lovers along the way, selfish and unyielding. Poor communicators, people who were taking their struggle out on others. It was where they were at. I was trying to get out, to grow. We could not meet each other at our levels, so different they were.
Believe me when I tell you that I was harmed. Please don’t blow it off, excuse it, or turn away, wanting to believe it was all my fault as you believe about all things. Believe me when I tell you the truth. Believe me when I tell you.
Trusting our struggle is where the core is at, that deep flesh of the honest self. We can morph into whatever we like to get there, don as many people-pleasing faces as we like to thwart would-be assailants. The end result is knowing yourself through and through.
Believe me when I tell you it gets better.
