Pull Away - 10thDoM RoM Challenge MUSE 1

It wasn't love at first sight. Or second or third for that matter. It was a love that was cultivated despite my resistance and reservations without hesitation or reservation from him. He was persistent, and before I knew what had happened, I was in love. Completely and utterly in love. I was ready, at the ripe age of 15, to leave my little hometown and follow him anywhere, if he'd only have me. It was the first time that he told me he loved me - over the phone with a quick disconnect afterward so I couldn't even respond - that I knew he was the man I was supposed to marry. In that one moment of teenage clarity, I fell so deeply in love that I couldn't imagine my life going on without him.

Despite the brevity of the actual time we'd spent together - just less than 2 months really - it felt like we'd been together for years. Every day, when he'd come pick me up in his little old beat up blue truck, I was giddy as I watched him drive up, shirtless, park the old beater, and put his shirt on as he walked up to the front porch. I relished that moment, waited for that moment, loved that moment every day. And every night, when he'd get ready to leave in that same old blue beater truck, he'd embrace me on the dirty front porch under the dim porch light for just a little longer than I embraced him. I was always the first to pull away.

I remember that summer, the part before he left, as the best of my life. It had it's ups and downs for sure, but mostly there were ups. Mostly, I felt safe. Mostly, I felt that this man would hold me up when I couldn't hold myself, lift me up when I was down, protect me from the things he thought me too delicate to experience. He worked hard at pulling down the 15 years of emotional walls I'd put up. I was still always the first to pull away.

And then he left. We knew it was coming, and it was hard. I can't even describe the emptiness I felt without him there. I wrote him every single day just to make sure that when mail call came, his name would always be called. When he was done with the first part of his training, I stayed home every Sunday just hoping he'd get to call. When the first cold letter came, I ignored the sentiment. And when the next letter came telling me to forget the previous one, I was all too happy to do just that.

When the phone call came, I wasn't at all prepared. I was devastated beyond comprehension. When I finally crawled myself out of my own hole of despair, I made a promise. If he would ever have me back, I would drop everything and everyone and do anything, go anywhere, be anyone for him.

The day finally came, five years later, that I got to make good on my promise. I became his. And I was happy with nothing more than being his. I wanted nothing more than to be his. I loved no one like I loved him, and I never ever will again. He owns my heart just like he always has. My heart that has never beat like it should, never sounded like it should, never worked like it should. My imperfect heart will always be his even if I'm still the first to pull away.