on loving another.

A few months ago, someone told me
that she didn’t want to see me in a relationship
because she feared I would lose myself to the operation,
because I would be so completely consumed
in and with the other, I would forget my foundations,
and that sacrificing my autonomy for the sake of the union
was a romantic yet ridiculous offering
because living on someone else’s terms
and devoting myself entirely to just one other
was selfish. I would be stunted and cheat myself
out of my own growth and learning
and out of relationships with my friends
because I would become obsessed with pleasing solely the other,
and no one else.

I don’t see how wanting to love another is selfish.
It feels too human and inherent and obvious.
And it’s not that I value friendship less than romantic love.
I don’t want to be in a relationship just for the sake
of existing on one side of an ampersand
and having a consistent partner to have sex with.
I want to be in a relationship because I want to learn about love.
I’ve mastered unrequited love.
I’ve dealt with loss.
I’m more than well-versed in the art of mourning
and putting things back together again—
without the aid of the king’s horses and men
after a house falls out of the sky and crushes me.
But I know almost nothing about reciprocated love
on an intimate level.
I know that there is a whole other side to me
that has gone untapped because I have not yet
experienced reciprocated love
on a deeper and intimate level.

This isn’t a matter of feeling inadequate.
I love myself. I really do.
I just know I haven’t reached my full potential.
I want someone to fill the voids in my heart
that I know exist, and that I know I can’t fill by myself.

I want a teacher.
I want someone to prove me wrong.
I want someone to put me in my place
when my judgment is flawed—not in a condescending manner—
just in a way that shows he cares about my personal growth.
I’ve been practicing sainthood,
but I want someone to teach me humility and selflessness.
More than that, I want a companion,
a partner in crime.
I want someone to come home to.
I want someone to share a bed with.
I want someone to call my own,
and someone that can call me his.