Changes

Everyone changes, in some small way in a relationship of any kind. We all shift something or another about ourselves, after being around people. It’s just the nature of being human, we change, we’re rarely the same person we are now, that we were ten years ago.

With each new romance, that sprouted, bloomed, and wilted, I’ve changed a little bit. I’ve gotten a liking for shooting pool and video games that I did not before from one, from another I know more about rocks and geology than any girl should; from another, I’ve learned how to digitally record and remix my own music.

But my independent streak, my don’t touch me, I want my space; that weird quality I’ve had of subtly driving people off, and then wondering what just happened. It’s gone. It’s not age or maturity that has changed this, the older I’ve gotten; the worse I’ve gotten about it. It’s him. It’s what he does. It’s the lack of stability and security in his world, I have no idea where he will be in a month and no idea what will happen while he’s there. I face a lifetime of packing, moving, deployments, training classes that take months to complete, weeks spent in the field.

Part of that fits well with me; the wanderlust will never get that strong, if I have new places to explore.

Beneath the layers of explore new places, live the adventure together, I face time alone. I face time apart from him, when I must let go of him, and watch him leave for places with names that terrify me. And then are the times, coming in the future, when he cannot tell me where he goes, where he will be, only that he will be back. I must live with those assurances, use them as a shield against the onslaught of news, opinions, well meaning people; there have been moments when it seemed the entire world was whispering “he will not come back”.

And now I see it, the first change in me. I’ve gone from independent wildcat, the girl who thought nothing of spending time on her own, who relished the opportunity to just think in the quiet to something different. I'm the girl who was up and running when the door opened Friday night. I’m the girl who sleeps with some body part, a hand, the side of my leg, some patch of skin, in contact with his; and when I lose that contact, I’m awake enough to shift, and curl up against him. I woke up this morning, the first thing I could see, was the shades of black and red on the tattoo on his back. I crawl out of bed not in any big hurry to shower, I smell like him. I walk around with my fingers curled around his, I wear his shirt, his tags, in part because they’re his, and in part, because they mark me as his.

The part of me held in reserve, the part of me that never got involved, and the part of me kept so carefully out of reach of any man in pursuit of my heart. It’s not there. When and where I handed my whole heart, scarred, but definitely whole, to him, I do not know. How he got in, past defenses I spent years crafting, I do not know either. I don’t know when he became such a huge part of my life, or when the simple act of waking up next to him seemed like such a monumental thing.

But he’s changed me, wrapped me up in layers of camo and Army-speak, tangled my very identity up with id tags, and now, I can just barely remember the standoffish girl I was. He’s engraved so deeply on my life that I’ll carry the marks of him for as long as I live. That’s the change this relationship has brought, it has taught me how to put my whole heart into something, to hold nothing back, to realize that love is not a war, but an offering of peace. I’m so wrapped up in the guardian that seemingly dropped out of the sky, that there is no room for me to hold back, to keep a piece of myself hidden away. This takes everything I have, and I’m finally ready to give that.

~Me