#asexual spec

But here I am, still me, still myself, but with opened eyes and a heart that might just have made space for myself.

I always thought if I were to have a longterm partner, I would need to become something I’m not, pretend to feel something I couldn’t, deal with things I once thought were normal. I’ve found that’s not the case at all.

I never thought I’d feel love. I never thought I’d understand it’s hearts pull. I was comfortable in my aromanticism. I accepted it, and myself. But I wanted desperately, enough to claw at the mud lined walls of the pit I called my home, to find someone who wouldn’t leave me. It didn’t have to romantic, it just needed to last.

Eight months ago I met a boy. I never expected much, boys only really interested me in my head. I’d always imagined myself with a woman because then she’d understand what I couldn’t give her and what I could.

But six months ago this boys told me he loved me and hasn’t let go of my hand.

I met a boy with toasted marshmallows for his eyes and hair made of winter mountain cabins and slow dancing in refracted moonlight. I met a boy whose mind complements mine. Our mouths can jabber on in our sleep in our wake in our new apartment just down the line.

He taught me to love, showed me the motions showed me the rush and the flush and then tender touch of someone who’s world has become yours.