You have this picture of me in your mind . . . a mini-you.
And don’t fret, I know where you’re coming from. The worries over the tiniest details–we seem to share all but one.
I am wild and free-spirited.
You are insistent and controlled.
I know the words rolling off your tongue are probably words you’ve heard from others all your life.
And I’m sorry that those words roll off me like the miniscule cold kisses of gentle rain. Rain that should have been stinging droplets firing at me from a 45 degree angle.
Once, I let the rain feel like that. Now, it’s nothing but a gentle shower. There’s only a sting here and there every once in a while, but it fades away under the soothing realization that the only reason you pour words on me is out of pure love.
And I’m sorry that I don’t fit your image. I’m trying. My mind slowly takes on and imitates the woman I’m supposed to be.
But sometimes that image gets washed away in the torrential downpour of your words. You don’t mean anything by it. Your only intention is love, but my own self-hate chooses to focus on the rain.
Will you forgive me?
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s not that I’m mad at you.
It’s just that I am me . . . and you are you.
Lovingly embracing the rain,