I’m so tired. The distance is pulling and pulling.
Joe went to my parents’ tonight to give them my old computer and my sister’s bike.
He called me after, texted me. ‘For some reason, I felt really worried about you when I left.’
He painted a scene I know so well. I sketched in every blank. ‘Did he open the garage? With all of the clutter?’ He seemed surprised. ‘He was drunk. I’m sure.’
And now I can’t tell if I’m crying because I’m sad that my parents live the way that they do—or because I’m so filled with emotion to have a man in my life who sees where I come from and not only loves me regardless—he asks what he can do to help them.
No one has ever done that. Everyone who came before rejected me because of my upbringing. He wants to love them like his own bone and blood.
This isn’t eloquent at all. I don’t care. I love him.