Monday, January 20, 2014

I married a man who doesn't read. And won't read this.

I married a man who doesn't read. He doesn't read literature. Or paint works of art, or compose music on his electric guitar. I initially thought I was taking the safe and boring option- falling in love with the man who I thought was as predictable as his spoon-fed television with predictable plots, canned laughter and happy endings.

I realize now that this makes me sound so cynical and two dimensional. I am the unpredictable one- driven to moments of high drama. And for me to communicate in a space that didn't include overcomplicated words, sartre quotes, or hedonistic references to rap culture was difficult. It was like speaking a different language, one that involved switching off the witticisms and turning on the truth. It isn't easy to exist in a state of pure emotion- especially for someone like me who has deep trust issues.

And yet- this was a journey in discovering that feeling safe wasn't a bad thing after all- because in learning to trust, and learning to feel safe, I learnt to love. And now, I feel safe in letting my heart beat faster when I see the curve of his smile, or hear the timbre of his laugh. I feel safe when I say what I feel in the knowledge it is reciprocated.

I always thought love had to be dramatic, filled with grandiose confessions of love, torrid letters and tears. But nothing prepared me for the quiet moments; a single text asking you if you've eaten, a song hummed at the bottom of his voice that you recognize and love, and even words of wisdom and comfort when you've gone completely around the bend with worry.

No one prepared me for this kind of love. I'm not complaining however- its a good feeling after all. And I don't really mind that he won't read this- because he already knows.

Who'd have thought it? One year can change so much.



Sangeeta said...

thumbs up, divvy

deviousdiv said...

Awww! Thanks Sangee. <3