What You See When You Really Love Someone

What You See When You Really Love Someone

“I see him as an endless supply of compassion and as the music that his voice makes. I see him as warmth in winter and as inspiration and as the definition of unconditional love. I see him as acceptance, as hope, as faith. I see him as his brilliant ideas and his wit and his wild sense of adventure. I see him as an endless sunrise. I see him as his soul…

…I see the man I’m with as my renewed faith in humanity, as the lessons I have learned in love. I see him as the overcoming of obstacles, as the soft water tension that supports our tiny boat in an endless sea. I see him as the unbreakable chain on our bike, as the strong film that protects the inside of a fragile egg, as fireworks and high fives and the fizz of a celebratory champagne bottle. I see him as the heartstrings that pull tight to wrap my hand up in his.

I see him as the encouragement he gives me and the love that he puts out into the world. I do not see his body as the barrier between my heart and his or as the moat that blocks the rest of the world out of the palace in the middle. I see the man I am with as the love I share with him and as the strength we give each other. I see him as the goodness that he brings out in me. I see him as his character, as the man he is, as the image his heart and soul portray. I see him now as everything the world would love about him if only he were wrapped up in a smooth set of six-pack abs. I see the man I am with in the same way that he sees me.

All that matters is the way I see him and the way that he sees me.”

The problem is… I AM NOT/HAVEN’T FOUND/MET (WITH) HIM YET. Everything in God’s perfect timing. ❤

Thought Catalog

 Lucas CobbLucas Cobb

The man I am with does not see me as the container I come in. He does not look at me from the outside in or see only the soft little folds in my skin. He does not see me as the vehicle that carries my double D breasts or the head upon which my curly hair rests. He does not see me as just the green eyes in my face or define me by my lack of that inner thigh space. He does not see me as my image in the eyes of passers-by or as my short-legged shadow or my cottage-cheese thigh. He does not see my body as “me.”

He sees me as a soul, a human mind, who needs a body to hold her to the earth. He sees me as ideas that need a head to fill and an eternity that needs some…

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