Imperfection

Often, I write about D, and how glad I am to be with him. Warm, easy as breathing, supportive and protective. I've been in a really nasty relationship. I know what bad looks like. Nothing about my life with D is bad. There are hard bits, for both of us, no question. No two people can live together in perfect agreement and harmony, but thorough good will and appreciation turns irritations into endearing quirks.

I once thought I loved someone who was unworthy. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I was not in love. So much work, so much compromise of myself, a drain on my soul, but I thought, "sell while you can, you are not for all markets." He was an addict, and one never feels so overwhelmed as when one is the addiction. Extremely seductive, especially to the young, inexperienced, and already abused or deprived. It never lasts, one is doomed to be less than the addict craves, but once caught, escape is a steep, hard, contradictory climb. I knew, but I thought I deserved no more, and had no idea how to get out. My foothold was his malice, which never matched the honeyed words. I can forgive anything, but malice. That speaks to character.

D is incapable of malice. I am, or was, but never against anyone I love, and even against those I have reason to hate it takes extreme provocation. Neither of us enjoys hostility or confrontation, although I have had to learn to face it, and he can throw a punch if necessary. We never fight. Which is not to say we never disagree, or miscommunicate, or get exasperated with each other. We just refuse to hold ill opinions of each other.

We get out of step, a bit neglectful, or tired, or distracted, cranky, and have to reconnect, wake up, put our heads together. He always welcomes me when I get home (met me at the car in the parking last evening. He'd been watching for me from the window.) I always greet him when he gets home. This is the deal.

We disagree on food a lot, but we've found meals we both like. He doesn't see housework, but would never complain of my slapdash cleaning. When I'm injured, I have to remember he's not a nurse, by training nor inclination, but he does pretty well, and pays attention. And I'm sometimes too much of one when he is ill or injured. He takes care of anything that can be done online, and indulges me in my distaste for making phone calls. Children make him very anxious, but he always treats them with careful dignity. He orders in restaurants for me when I am exhausted and tongued tied.

Not perfect. Perfect for me.