Raw nakedness

There are some experiences that are difficult to define. They're filled with such sheer emotionality that it's almost impossible to put them to words. So we pick soundtracks. We pick songs and colors and paintings to sort of explain away the intensity.

I'll never forget the moment that you first saw me naked. Barriers down, masks and charades completely removed. Me, exposed. Raw. Ferocious. Devastated.

I was curled up in a ball ready to die. Truth be told, I was ninety percent dead at that point. I was unlovable. I was unattainable. I was completely disconnected from anyone, anywhere who could possibly understand or perceive me.

You were a thousand miles away, connected through this phone line.

And I don't know what made me do it. Maybe it was simply that I couldn't not do it. Maybe it was luck, or safety, or desperation. Maybe it was this one freaking moment where my brain wasn't constantly calculating, analyzing, evaluating, and you had my chaos dumped on you. You had my nakedness exposed.

You touched my rawness. You climbed in to it and you loved it. In that singular moment, I learned a life lesson: what love looks like. And you said My sweet, what on earth has been done to you that you don't know what love looks like?

You screamed louder than the voices in my head. You loved harder than the terrors could beat me. Your breath heated up my frozen spirit. You were the miracle I begged God for. You were the proof that I wasn't completely worthless.

I still think about that massive canvas that was covered in shining gold on our first date. We went to look at art. And somewhere amongst the canvases, your fingers interlocked with mine for the first time. In that experience, I felt home. For those seconds, I wasn't waiting for the nightmare to come.

You're still the only person who has ever seen me like that.