With each (love) exchange I see things more clearly.

Simultaneously, my ego is shattered, stripped of assumptions, heart left blind and raw.

I may see things more clearly, but a part of this is the sudden realization that I know far less than I thought I did, so giving into this newness is the only way to move forwards.

Stumbling and fumbling in the dark.

I am fascinated (maybe too fascinated) with the possibility of what that thing is that (might) draw us to each other—the unspoken energy, the je ne sais quoi.

I can sense certain things. Like how I know you already, a little bit, and the wanting to know you is a part of the already knowing.

In a way, they are one and the same.

I know what this thing is about another person; I can sense the way that another person is, what makes them tick, before really knowing. There is a gist of the fine points and facets, the insecurities and sads.

The ways that their lightness serves to highlight dark crevices.

But when I say I know, I don’t mean that I know. What I really mean is that I’m drawn into what I don’t know (but could).

Sometimes this happens wordlessly. It’s the thing that makes us want to peel back the layers and get to know another, for real.

When I say I know, I really mean I feel something and I want to feel more of it, even if it’s scary.

But the thing is that I want none other than to see life (you/me, maybe you+me) as evolving.

What if, every day, we could see something—someone—in a new way?

Because into each night there is a little death. And as the sun rises, we are a bit reborn.

The (not-always) graceful dance of us is about a nuance, sensing. A gentle push-pull exchange. It’s about softness, but also seperateness: the way we tuck our sensitive natures behind the places that life has hardened us.

So: how many of your walls will you let me get through? And how (much) would you like to bust through mine?

I’m not scared to show the soft parts, to admit to my mistakes.

I’m not perfect and I’m not proud.

I am scared when my walls go up without me even knowing. I am scared, every day, of many things. And I’m not always bravely facing these fears.

I’m not always stepping up, and I must be a little bit scared.

And I know that you are too—scared of me leaving, of me staying. Of you leaving, of you staying.

That dance that we are each so familiar with by now, but every time it’s different anyhow. We think we know how this all plays out…and so that is probably our biggest mistake.

So maybe all there is is just asking you to stay with me (and me with you) as we move through these weird undercurrents and rapids of life. Even when it feels sort of stagnant.

Maybe especially when it feels like this. And then slowly we feel our own momentum again, in ourselves and through each other, currents undulating.

The rise and fall, push and pull, wax and wane.

Even when we are apart. Even when we are with others. Maybe all it will be is a postcard, a phone call, a note. Something that lets us know that we are still somehow connected.

Even when your walls are up, I still want to know you.

Something about you makes me want to extend myself.

I will nudge (not shove) the door open just a crack and I will watch. I will bear witness to this, to you, for just a moment.

And we will never completely understand each other, ever.

But it’s the wanting to—this extension of grace—that makes for the first pull, the first draw in.

And also the last.

Sometimes I will run and hide and it will seem like I do not want to know you but the truth is that this is when I want to know the most.

Know that you still like me, that intimacy exists.

I will turn towards these scary things (in myself) instead of running away, so that I will be running back to know me, again, to feel more whole and give back more fully.

And maybe you will hide in the deep dark shadows of the bed and all I can do is extend my hand in the darkness. Maybe you let me touch the skin on your hip that faces upwards and that’s all there is to do but it still matters.

At the end of a moment—be it complex or soft or sad or scary—all there is to come back to is love.

So, this is it.

Will you let me?

Love elephant and want to go steady?

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Photo: juanedc at Flickr