Goodnight sweetheart
Darling, darling. Sweet precious darling. My beloved.
“If you know what its like, to dream a dream…
Hold me tight and let this be heaven.
cover me.
Leave me breathless
“Hold my hand don’t let me fall
You’ve such amazing grace
I’ve never felt this way…”
show me heaven, cover me,
leave me breathless,
show me heaven, babe.
“Here I go… I’m shaking just like the breeze
Hey baby… I need your hand… to steady me”
I cry because I mourn. I rarely cry. It gives me headaches.
The war my dears is over. Now we can mourn our fallen comrades. The first casualty was my heart. The thing in my chest currently pulsating is unrecognisable to the thing that bounced 6 months ago. Which was unrecognisable to the dead thing that tapped at my chest for my whole life prior to that.
The truth really is that there is nothing in my chest at the moment. I’m all cried out.
Maria Mckee, show me heaven has for the longest time been one of my favourite songs,
The drum beat has been the way I describe my heart. The soft, and powerful way she sings the song essentially embodies my mood. Soft, at times, powerful at others. a whisper and a roar. Each line, is my life. So here goes, a 1st Corinthians chapter 13 4-7, and 13 moment for you. With Show me heaven.
If you know what its like, to dream a dream.
I have always been a romantic. But I have not really known or understood love. I have always felt chronically underloved. No one has ever loved me in a way I can understand, or without some sort of abuse.
My parents? My God the less said, the better. 8th November 2018 comes to mind when I was “the problem” and they wanted me “fixed” so I would be easier to abuse. Then there’s years of being the last place kid and the “have hope” because my two brothers screwed up. Then there’s the financial abuse, the manipulation and many other sins, which is better not to go into. But I held on. I hold on, because they’re all I have.
My ex? Abusive, cheating, raping “good guy.” prince charming with rotten teeth and a credit card full of my money. Again, the less said the better.
So the dream of love, true love, has been widely held. For a long time. I wanted, and still do, crave the warmth by the fire. Yet all I get is embers and then told to settle for cold ash.
So I dream of adoring eyes, slow kisses and joyful living. Plain, honest living. a “bushel” of kids lovingly made and even more lovingly raised. running around in parks, singing in cars, baking cakes, holidays, reading, arguing, laughing enjoying each other’s company. A dream of a strong father and a feminine mother. The life I didn’t get, I want for them, if you don’t come from a healthy family, let a healthy family come from you… embodied. A father at the head of the household, authortative. I want to be loved deeply, so deeply that it can plumb the depths of the pain I have lived with, the first person to touch my soul will be the first person who will hold space while I fix myself. You’re meant to get better before a relationship. This is a lie. Or an impossibility. Self help tells you to fix yourself before “you bleed on someone else.” Do all you can my loves. But when you have never truly been loved, then the impetus of healthy people telling you to fix yourself with no tools, or experience or not even a knowledge of what is wrong with you half the time is as comical as it is cruel. Go ahead, fix a rocket, or even an Iphone with nothing but “Self will” or “hard work” that thing, my darling, is still broken, you may know the inner workings better, you may even have found out what is wrong with it… but with no tools, and no experience, the likelyhood of you actually fixing it is less than 5% and don’t get me wrong, there’s always 5% where its a simple “turn it off, turn it on again” where a self help boot camp can jumpstart a person, but for the rest of the 95%, we my dears need specialist help.
And that specialist help, is love. Actual love, safety. I dream of not running away from pain, but running toward pleasure. Walking towards my beloved, knowing I am safe, knowing I can trust, knowing I can lay those broken pieces at his feet and we’ll work it out together, because the broken pieces of him, I can help with too.
If you know what its like to dream that dream… walk with me. We’ll take a journey.
Hold me tight and let this be heaven.
You know how sometimes a hug makes life better? When dad was alive I had a man who would hug me. now I have nothing, my old job had a hugging culture. Now I work in a normal office, but I don’t touch anyone. When you go home alone, you don’t know how that feels. The touch, sensory deprivation is real… it messes with you. During the pandemic it would mess with me. Now, without my beloved, I feel it again. My beloved touched me…. roughly about 6 times in 6 months. I had days of adoring looks, but hugs? about 4, a handshake and a fist bump. We don’t touch. And I love it. But also, it meant that once married, I would want to touch, be held tightly because I think a record hug, of several minutes or hours might actually start to fix the broken pieces of me. I actually think if this man hugged me for 10 minutes, I would break down in tears. His strong arms around me, would cause me to heal. To be held, is to be held safely. You are never held dangerously. The person will never let you fall. That’s heaven to me, but also, just to not be the one providing safety, for 10 minutes would be the whole world for me. I want to lay my cross down for a while. Being held, means aligning my heartbeat to someone else’s. It would change my world view. Being safe for 10 minutes would change me. Being well loved for a day, a week, a month, a lifetime? Would change me. If heaven is a place on earth then for me its in a hug. 2 hearts beating as one, being held tight. finally being okay.
Cover me
This is biblical… The bible says you shouldn’t be unevenly yoked. Yet here I am, carrying all the burdens. A man should cover his wife… in love, in protection, in respect. There should be nothing showing. Being covered in love looks different to different people, but to me, its breath giving. I often feel like I’m drowning. Once someone comes out of the water, you cover them in blankets, you keep them warm, you protect them from the elements. I need that. I need protection, I need to be kept warm. My heart is slowly turning to ice… it chills me to the bone. I need to be blanketed in tenderness, the world has been too cruel these past few years. Not just spoiled, but adored, have my heart held, by someone worthy, and held gently. That gentleness is something so vital. Young men of my generation play at chivalry in the same way the new romantics played in the court of Henry the eigth. “Sire Loyal Heart” meanwhile he was screwing Bessie Blount, Mary Boelyn, Anne Boyleyn and countless others. The men who play at “loyalty” and “chivalry” are tiring to me, I can always tell. Its not about holding a door open when its easy. Its about watching your tone with your wife when its hard. I want love to be full, I can’t describe it any other way. I once said love should be measured in metric tonnes per milisecond, not milligrams per annum. I feel that platonic pleasantry is what you can expect from a spouse these days, no more loyalty than a roommate. Not someone you would put your body through 10 months of pregnancy for or any sort of hardship, because ultimately, they won’t do the same for you. So you’re not covered, if it hits the wall. you are on your own.
Leave me breathless
My favourite Bible verse. 1 Cornithians, Chapter 13, vs 4-7 and 13. and today, we’ll add vs 8
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Read that verse again… at no point does it say, “Leave me breathless” it talks about a love that can be applied to your child, to your mother and to your lover. But love does include those breathtaking moments. In fact life is defined by them.
Birth… that babies first cry, takes your breath away… The look in your husband’s eyes as he holds his beloved child for the first time. His own, private miracle… A healthy human.
Generosity, affection, romance… All can be breathtaking. A first kiss. (Now I have discounted my ex, I have yet to experience my “first kiss” and I am looking forward to it being breathtaking…) A night looking at the stars over Paris. Or anywhere. A sunset, a ticket to your favourite place…all breathtaking. A compliment, a smile, a look of adoration from a loved one. All breathtaking. For me these are the things I remember. A hug from your father on his last Christmas… breathtaking…ly simple.
Marriage. A union of 2 souls. For better for worse. A bond stronger than death, a daily decision to honor another person… breathtaking in its simplicity and its beauty. It can be defined as breakfasts in bed. Cuddles, a warm hand on your back and a look of concern followed by “lets go to the hospital” Night staying up together, sharing the load during the hard times and the first person you look to share the good times with. The person that you run to. The first person you think of in the morning and the last person you think of at night…warm breathless kisses… a look, a touch a whole new language, with someone else.
Death.
The only people who mourn are those who have loved. It really is that simple. You can’t miss something you don’t know about. But it isn’t just about the art of death, and yes death is an art. It sure as hell isn’t a science. Its about dying. Dying can be the act of losing a person over time, like a dementia patient, or losing someone all of a sudden. Like when someone is shot. And I can tell you, as someone who lost someone both all at once and in pieces, it is better to go suddenly. Not watching the suffering, because you mourn the loss individually, he speaks less today than yesterday? You mourn that. He doesn’t speak at all tomorrow? You mourn that. He can’t stand up? You mourn that. Death of a loved one kills you too. I don’t need to tell you its breathtaking. It becomes a physical pain sat in your heart where love, hope and a piece of their soul used to be. Now that soul is gone, all you can do is trace the imprints on your heart. That’s what memories are. Imprints of their soul on your heart. Enjoy them.
So love is not about a breathless tumble in the hayfields. My darling, if that’s what you feel, then its infatuation, not love. Its lust not love. Its about the moments they give you. Joy, pain, anger but all are real feelings. Its about how you act, if it can get your heart rate up. Its not about what you do when you are in equilibrium, everyone can be patient, kind, keep no record of wrongs, when you have had an easy day at work, full stomach and no distractions or problems. No its what you do when you are incandescent with rage, dying of worry or filled with heart bursting joy. Who do you want to share your breathless excitement of a new job, a pregnancy or a house move with? That is love. Kisses are affection, not love. And love and affection are not the same thing.
“Hold my hand don’t let me fall
Now we move from the land of the intelectual to the instinctive. What does handholding do? Why do we hold the hands of children? Or our lovers? Or a spouse as they pass into eternity?
Its the act of instinctive closeness. To stop what you are doing and be close. Handholding means even if the person stumbles, you are there. You won’t or can’t let them fall. You will fall too. I don’t know how I feel about handholding. Its also an act of possesion. A man holds his woman’s hand to claim her. A woman yanks her child’s hand away from the dangers. But ultimately it is the eternal symbol of romantic love. Such instinctive touch. Less intimate than kissing, but protective without being outwardly controllling. I always imagine it as a gentle way of being held safely on a daily basis. Again the only man I will bear to touch me is my husband. And maybe sons if they come along.
But “Don’t let me fall” is something of huge importance to me. For all my life. I have been allowed to fall. To fail. All my failures, my mistakes, my errors, are 100% my own. But I bear them alone. Having someone watch out for me and “Not let me fall” It beats in my chest. I don’t want to keep falling like a damsel in distress. I want to be rescued because I think I’ll do myself some irreconsilible damage by myself.
But also, “Fall” when people talk about “falling in love” its weird. As someone who at 31 has finally experience love. I can say its not falling. Yes, there are levels, and you go deeper into it. (and by the way I’m in the peripheries of what I could be…if I got to know him…Heaven help me) But it isn’t falling. I have always loved with my eyes wide open as an adult. I see people. I see their faults, and my instincts are what is wrong… I have no sense of self preservation. I’m learning to not throw myself off a cliff like a lemming, but its not falling in love. For me its appreciating in love. I once used the term “soak myself in enjoyment” to describe my love. The key word there is “Myself” I make love. I create the love that exists. I soaked myself in enjoyment that I created. I enjoy him. But it is how I respond to him that is the soaking myself in the enjoyment. He’s funny, but 1000’s of people are funny, and he’s handsome and 1000’s of people are handsome. I don’t fall in love. I create the love, and then decide to live a life of love. Love makes me luxurious, instinctive, present in my body. These are my higher powers. Analysis? This came from reading a room and sensing danger. I’m good at it because its a muscle I have practiced. Meanwhile, this other woman. This woman of love? She’s someone I just have to trust. She always gets herself home. Next is enjoyment. The key word is “Joy” there. Love makes me see the joy in life. Laughter, and love are intertwined for me. I have spent too long serious. Being a joyful soul is the key to my heart and once my heart is unlocked it too is joyful. So there is no falling, more like ascending. Ascending into my higher self. And I was taking my first few steps. They were shaky, they were like a foal, or a girl getting her sea legs, but I was finally starting to enjoy being loved. And not necessarily in a sexual way. The purity of the action, made it attractive. Addictive even, that for me is love. Love is an addiction to the consequences of being loved well. And so you act in a way that will feed that addiction.
You’ve such amazing grace
I’ve never thought grace was an important quality in a man. But it is. But not in the way I thought. This man did not show me grace… he graced me with his presence. Remember me talking about wanting to be warmed by the fire? For the first time I was. I felt part of something. I felt bound in loyalty. My loyalty, irrational as I know it to be, humanises him to me even in this late stage. It brings out my protective instincts, to preserve his peace. It makes the thought of hurting or harming him unbearably painful to me, it makes seeing a smile on his face worth all the pain. His grace, his wholesomeness has been a wonder to me, its like seeing the light for the first time. And the light is his eyes. Those adoring eyes. Such an amazing feeling. I have never been the recipient of grace. Like I said, I live in a place of safety, because if there is ever a chance for someone to screw me over… picking on the quiet black girl is an easy target. Sexualisation, fetishization, bullying, racism. Lived through it all. Life has rarely given me a chance to stop and catch my breath. So his grace towards me whilst meaning nothing to him, meant everything to me. It meant someone saw me, as a human being, even for 1 minute and humans don’t talk about being seen. I have fetishized it. Being seen, being heard, being loved. Its the ultimate aphrodisiac. But all humans need it. I don’t know where it stands on the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but it definitely is one. Its not just self actualisation, its being accepted for who you are. I’ve googled it and I’m seeing “Love and belonging” which should normally cover it. The need to be a person, who is accepted, but it runs into “esteem” which is status. For me, its about your worth as a person not soley being valued on what you do, your profession, but who you are…even if you don’t follow the social contructs.. because often, love and esteem are conditional on being tied to the social constructs… Oh you like to write? Cool, not a danger to my social standing. You like to do crotchet? Also not a threat to capitalism. Oh you believe that Africa is owed reparations for the treaty of Africa, colonialism, and slavery? Big problem. I don’t want to impovrish myself for your beliefs to come into fruition, it must be repressed.
Being seen for 2 minutes, being adored, being held in high esteem by a person, for a few days, changed me. It made me realised how little love I had been surviving on. It made me instantly greedy. Absolutely ravenous for love. I have been talking about oceans, and rivers and floods and I was rationing love like I lived in a desert…and you know what? I do. My dad is dead, my mother’s love is based on so many conditions it reads more like a contract of employment not a relationship between a mother and daughter. My to-do list is a mile long. But none of it is based on me following my heart or my love… Its based on me running myself on empty to pour into other people. Hence why a look can last a lifetime. I’d never been adored by a man before. I’d never been treated with purity before. With men there has been an agenda. My father? To show off his intelligent daughter who did everything right. My ex? To colonise another slaves daughter. An attitude that hadn’t changed in 200 years. I was no better than my ancestors and I thought it was cool. He wanted to have sex with someone who couldn’t say no because he was a white man and I am a black woman and the balance of power said he was in control. He only wanted me because he thought I couldn’t say no. When I did… it was a problem…
So the act of a pure teasing about tea, or my dress without motive or sexualisation, or fear was not just a big thing it was a revelation. A complete revelation… Men can do this? Its possible to have a man look at you and you feel no fear? Men can… in fact hold themselves up from their base desires which we are taught they can’t control??
“They need sex… they can’t help it…”
“Oh let them look, let them touch, what’s the harm?”
“Submit to your husband…”
or the best of all.
“Close your eyes and think of England…” The rapists refrain.
But as it turns out… life doesn’t have to be like that. Life can be a gentle teasing, probing of someone’s boundaries rather than railroading them. Love doesn’t have to hurt, in fact it shouldn’t. Love should be about kissing and making up, and safety and boundaries and sweetness and kindness. That’s not grace, that’s love. Grace is “Courteous good will” but its often meant to be easy and magnanimous, and these instances they were. But its also a form of affection. You rarely have good will for your enemies. For once, I was not treated as an enemy, or an outsider. And it meant everything. It bought loyalty, love and enjoyment. With amazing grace… How sweet the sound.
I’ve never felt this way…”
Lets talk about starvation. It is the only way I can describe the way I feel, when it come to love. Living in a desert? Yes, but it is the starvation that kills me. The lack is breathtaking. The lack of love. The need to gorge yourself in every single memory. I wrote once, the memory of him is better than the reality of anyone else. He showed me more love in that time than I experienced…ever. Because I could understand it. I felt before assexual, or like I was wired wrong because love’s language was Mandarin and I spoke…English. The languages never intersected. But finally, I could understand what love meant, and I could begin to feel it. I could show love in a way that was natural to me, instinctive. Being instinctive is such a vital part of being a woman. All the time you are taught to smother your instincts by people trying to sell you short. And I have always fought that. And always told I was difficult, a problem and to repress myself, make myself small. For once I wanted to be seen as myself. To die on my feet rather than live on my knees. It was my desire to stand up and be loved that shocked me. Feeling. I’d never felt this way because I’d never felt. I’d never allowed myself to feel. I have kept people at arms length because yes… on the 8th November 2018 the 3 people who were meant to love me best gathered round to tell me I was a problem. To stab me openly… not in the back… to my face, whilst twisting the knife and making eye contact. To tell me I should make it easier on them to manipulate and abuse me. When I cried, not one person who claimed to love me reached over to touch me, to comfort me. They’d all decided it would be best if I just stopped being problematic then all their problems would go away. Let my husband abuse, rape and cheat so that they didn’t have to deal with the crying daughter or spouse. It takes 2 to make a problem and if I stopped making it a problem it would go away. My heart broke for the final time that day… It had broken many times before, but that being the final straw. Love and sex have always been closely intertwined and because men normally want the latter with me I never give them either. A man who loves me purely allowed me to see what love is. It made me realise how damaged I was, he had to show up consistently, teasing, laughing, showing contentment, it took me months to realise he may even like me. He may actually not. It may all be in my head. but it allowed me to have a moment of softness, a softness with myself, to think of something other than pain, struggle, to think about how I wanted to be loved… and to use his words…
“I want…that”
“Here I go… I’m shaking just like the breeze
So when you want…that, what do you do? I’m shaking… Love is a revelation to me, and I am still trying to wrap my head around what happened, I opened my heart for not long… and now I am shaking. Shaken by the power of my need, shaken by the strength of feeling, from small interactions, shaken, shaking, shook. My head is spinning. What to do now? I just spoke about love being Mandarin and I only speak English. I can’t go back. I can’t understand love in any other way other than the way he gives it. Handsomeness is now those adoring brown eyes, and height, and beard and skin. Definition of manliness? Cheekiness, intellectual curiosity, assertiveness, husbandry. How do I want to be loved? By time being spent, not being sexualised, being adored, being present, being hugged deeply and kissed deeper. By being given the space to put myself back together. To see into his soul as he sees mine. To have someone put my interests ahead of theirs… to put a laptop down…slowly… Can you believe that’s an act of love? Can you believe that is the top act of love in the past 10 years. A man… putting his laptop down slowly…whilst watching me, uncertain. Because it was about me, he was sacrificing his interests with the promise of nothing in return. No debt owed, no favours done… he put his laptop down slowly because I asked. Its enough to break me. He heard me. Remember I said I fetishised being seen? Or heard? This is where it comes from. When I was broken, when I was so down I couldn’t even make eye contact, he watched me, waititng to catch me if I fell. He put his laptop down and listened. And it moved my soul and still brings me to tears. He didn’t touch me and he has shaken me to the core. He still doesn’t understand why I needed it but he recognised that I did and he did what I asked. That has never happened to me before and I the deliberateness of the action was mind rocking. He didn’t argue, didn’t question, didn’t demand…he just did it.
I shake, I’m shaken, I shook. Because kindness, care and connection are such a rarity.
Hey baby… I need your hand… to steady me”
I’m currently in tears. I need your hand to steady me darling. I am still shaken as the power of your actions reverberates months down the line. I am out of balance. I’ve never made love. (not only in the sexual sense, I have never created love for a person like this…) Therefore I don’t know what to do with all this love. All this love that is there, while we are currently apart. It’s like being awakened with bright lights only to be told to go back to sleep. You can’t… Its not something to be done on command. His presence, his memory, made me realise how much I need a strong, authoritative man to steady me. To rest inside of. His boundaries and walls are those built to protect me, not restrictive, empowering. This man inspired many works of creative art, he did not restrict me. he empowered me. Not in a way that I expected, or him. He doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter. He steadied me…and we saw the beauty that came from me having moments of calm, vivacity. My husband is not just there to steady me whilst I am shaken by his grace, or his love. He’s there to make sure I don’t trip and fall as I ascend the stairs of my destiny, I need his hand to steady me. I’m an emotional creature. And I need his hand to steady me there too. It is, just as important that he helps me ascend as that he does not allow me to descend. Life has been too full of valleys, I need direction when it comes to flying using my own wings. I need centring, a rock, a strength and stay when I have none, and that is for the climb as well as the fall. Making love, as in the act of creating love from the consequences of someones actions, is a creative process, you never know how it will manifest. I have no idea how truly being loved will manifest for me. But I do know its like nourishment. It will make me stronger, fill out places I didn’t know were hollow and build me from the inside out. So then it becomes not him that steady’s me, its the consequences of his love meaning I am steady. Which is in the end preparing me for the end. Because this love ends in one of 2 ways. Either it teaches me how to die, or it teaches me how to live without him when he dies. That’s what being loved well teaches you. It teaches you how to live, and it teaches you how to deal with death. its not macabre, or morbid. Its facts…Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy because they couldn’t live without one another, they’d taught each other nothing but lust…Real love builds, builds strength, builds trust, builds families, communities and countries. Real love isn’t afraid of death, because it lives on. Love doesn’t die.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
I don’t dream of the wedding, I dream of the marriage.
I dream of my husband, showing me heaven.
Goodnight sweetheart. I leave you with a quote.
“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
Grace and Courage.
Annetta Mother Smith.