I was so focused on rapid growth, on trying to be bigger than I was, on trying to be strong and stable for both of us. I tried not to let my faults show. I tried not to let my weakness seep out; so much so that I forgot about being comforted.
I forgot about tucking in close at your side.
I forgot about arms draped over my shoulders.
I forgot about kisses placed gently on my brow.
I forgot about being held, being enveloped.
I forgot about feeling small and safe.
I forgot about hands softly holding my face.
I forgot about hands gently wiping my tears.
I forgot about the scent of your neck.
I forgot about being told, we will get through this.
I had forgotten what it was to not just be comfortable, but to be comforted. It wasn’t until I was sitting across from you, crying, struggling for words when you found them first, “I’m sorry I’m not a very comforting person.”
My next two words were a sorrowful pleading to bring that out in you, they were a tearful admission that, as it stood, this wasn’t going to be enough, “Me too.”