View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by annie miteva (@_minimalista) on Apr 16, 2019 at 8:57am PDT

I feel our love hatching, shedding its skin, and becoming beautiful again.

I’m surprised. I’m joyous. I’m scared.

Things between us have molted so much in the past few months, my love—I can barely keep up.

Our hands shook with fear back then, eyes glistening with tears, for we were about to let go of the way our palms and hearts melted together.

Then, we didn’t let go of each other. But we did let go of something.

Change flashes like a camera. The bright light sparks something deep within—something golden and wild. For a moment, everything is illuminated, and we see things as they really are.

I love those striking moments of clarity.

Then, spots blink in our eyes. We are dizzy. We are uncertain, spinning together on the jagged, beautiful dance floor of life.

But we’re smiling, trying to figure it all out, knowing that at some point we must surrender to the goddamn mystery.

Love is hard sometimes. It’s like nothing I ever expected. And as I dare to drop the sheen of my high-gloss expectations, I feel naked and raw and free.

It’s an odd sensation.

But I like it.

Because really, there’s nothing like loving another to bring up all the sh*t inside us we didn’t realize was still there.

Oh hello, trauma from three years ago. Oh hello, wounds from when I was 18. Oh hello, fantasies and illusions I forgot were informing my every move.

In some moments, I’ve felt deeply disappointed. For so long, I bought into the popular cultural narrative that when I “met the right person” everything would be perfect.

When that wasn’t the case, I was convinced something was wrong. But really, I was left with the thudding realization that love isn’t a magic wand, after all.

There is no glass slipper. No fairy tale.

We are still human—wounded and imperfect and beautiful. There is still conflict, fear, and pain. We still project unwanted parts of ourselves onto each other.

Our issues don’t just evaporate.

And this isn’t horrifying or hopeless. Love doesn’t bring our sh*t to the surface to torture us, but so we can make sense of it and heal.

There are opportunities for learning so lush they could fill an entire library.

I am in awe that love actually is—not something to make us 100 percent happy at all times, or fulfill our every last whim—a sweet vehicle of transformation.

A path to know ourselves better and see what an honor it is to be with another.

To behold them on dark, stormy days and sunny ones, too.

Love can be more than happily ever after.

It can be the art of taking responsibility for ourselves in a new way.

It can be the art of becoming—of witnessing tears, success, disappointments, fear, laughter, and grief.

Yes, and doing that with another.

How messy. How complex. How simply beautiful.

My love, I’m glad I didn’t give up a few months ago, when I was triggered like a bolt of lightning and just wanted to leave. I shut down.

My love, I’m glad you didn’t give up a few months ago, when you were angry and thought we had pushed each other away for good.

Back then, our bond felt frayed beyond repair. My gosh, we can both be so stubborn—threatened by a hint of change, terrified by the mere prospect of compromise.

We’ve learned so much since then. We’ve grown. We’ve even—gasp—learned to compromise without compromising ourselves.

You stuck with me. I stuck with you.

Maybe we didn’t know what the heck we were doing. But we sure were curious, weren’t we?

Our love roared like wild winds, parting layers of sticky fabric sewn together.

Something old fell away.

You saw me. Of all things, that’s what I needed. I needed to be known by you—for my insides to be decrypted bead by bead like a pearl necklace forged from the ocean herself.

I was naked and trembling—and in response, you were respectful and gentle.

You were naked and trembling—and in response, I was respectful and gentle.

We met each other with such tenderness. That meant the world to me.

Connection. It is where we become, where we have been hurt before, and where we can be reborn.

And so, as we lean in, as we whisper.

This delicious promise grows like something primal emerging from the sea—a messy turquoise beauty dripping wet, covered in salt.

This love renews itself, it takes work, it frustrates us, it challenges us, it gives us profound joy.

I’m so damn excited to keep walking on this adventure alongside you as grateful tears drench our cheeks.

Through our dedication, we’ve made the impossible possible:

I see that I can love you and not lose myself.

I can love you and have strong boundaries.

I can love you and love me.

Things I once thought were opposites are not actually opposites at all, but two beautiful parts that enrich each other endlessly.

Change flashes like a camera, the bright light sparks something from deep within—something golden and wild. For a moment, everything is illuminated, and we see things as they really are.

Our love is not perfect. It is even better—it’s real.

It is an honor to know you.

It is an honor to show myself to you.