Rise there is sunshine

Today I woke up to an adorable photo of my love. Sent to me via text. I laid in my bed which was soft but not soft enough because I laid alone, watching the sunshine beam through my window. Yes, I am still a secret. But I am not a mistress.

After last nights disagreement turned argument we wrapped ourselves in some very phenomenal sex. I told my love that I was sorry. I did not receive an apology back. But they did pretend that they didn’t want to have sex. So I played the villain and within 60 seconds phenomenal sex happened.

I feel I should clarify. When I say “played the villain” I don’t mean I actually was the villain. And it’s not code for truly being a victim. What I am saying is that I took responsibility for my actions and held myself accountable. But allowed my love to run from accountability and play victim. I’m not yet sure how to help them with this issue. I’ve noticed no matter how small the issue is or who it’s regarding, my love often places themselves in the victim role. And though it frustrates me at times, most times I’m watching this person as if I’m their doctor. I had to separate myself from the bubble to analyze it.

This is strange to me because this person seems to be a real life super hero. My love is always helping others, a Savior of sorts. I feel maybe it’s an issue of me upsetting this person and because of all that they’re going through, they might feel attacked or wronged because I’m suppose to be their pillow after the day is complete. But what if I’m hurt by my love..am I not allowed to express it. Should I continue to bottle up my emotions and experiences as long as we’re together. My love said I think is all about me. I find that to be very poor judgment. Considering all I think about is my love, I’m constantly concerned for this person’s well being, I’m supportive, and I’m happy for their progress, this person impresses me, I write poetry for my love, visited my loves work space even when I had things to do, very important things, unbeknownst to this person. The list goes on. I wrote songs for this person, gifted this person. So I’m trying to figure out where did this person get this inaccurate analysis?

Maybe this was another loophole they found… (Side note: my grammar is annoying, isn’t it?)

For now I will keep myself bottled up. And I will place a smile on my face. Because I am happy. But sometimes I am unhappy with love.
In my tree,

Owl

Photo: E. J. Bellocq

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