Found:
It's only been a few weeks and already I have people advising me to forget about him. To move on. He's dead. He's deserted you. He's not coming back. He's put you through so much already. You don't deserve to be treated this way. He doesn't deserve you. There are other men out there, men who would be kinder to you, more attentive, present.
Perhaps there is some truth to these assessments.
He can, after all, be an arse. He's absent much of the time. He's reclusive. He demands answers and insights but rarely gives them in return. He wishes for my confidence, but won't offer me his own. He's indecisive and slow to act. When things are less than perfect, he runs away. He spends so much time staring at one piece, convincing himself of its veracity, that he overlooks the rest of the puzzle. He has spoken before of wanting to be needed, to be relied upon, but then gives me every reason to do the very opposite. He can be thoughtless, selfish, insecure, blind to the effects of his actions, hypocritical, accusatory, dismissive, frustrating and overly complicated to the point of being easily misunderstood.
But he's also kind. He's loving. He's gentle. He tries to understand, even when he doesn't. He tries to help, even when he can't. He would go out of his way to aid a complete stranger. He accepts, even though he may not like. He tries so hard to be better, and in so doing, he often inspires others to be better as well.
The man is flawed, yes, but who isn't?
I'm certainly not a paragon of perfection by any means! I am willful, impulsive, overly independent and often emotionally inaccessible. I refuse to need people because I don't know how to need them. I don't rely on people because I'm too used to standing alone. I do what I believe must be done, no matter the cost to myself personally. I care less for my own safety and wellbeing than I do for that of my horse. I am proud. I am stubborn. I, too, am prone to running. I don't do half-measures; I either throw myself into something completely, or I walk away. I can be selfish. I can be thoughtless. I can be blind, distrustful, close-mouthed, and goodness knows I've my own fair share of insecurities!
But I can be kind. I can be loving. I can be generous and understanding and supportive. I can be forgiving and welcoming. I can care, and I'm trying so very hard to fix that which is broken in me. Though I've had little cause to be in the past, I can also be loyal.
When I gave my commitment to him, I did not do so lightly. It was not under the condition that he be at my side every waking moment or even every day. It was not until I get bored or lonely or until things become difficult. It was not - as he seems to worry - until someone younger and prettier comes into my line of sight.
Perhaps I'm setting myself up for a very large and painful fall. Perhaps he is dead or does not intend to return, or does not put as much stock in that pledge as do I. But I choose to believe that he lives, that he will come back, and that we are of a similar opinion on that matter, at least. I choose to believe that for all our imperfections, shared and differing, we may yet learn how to work together.
It's not easy, learning to share life when one has been alone for so long. It's not easy, remembering that one's actions affect someone else beyond ourselves when it never really has before. It's not easy to exercise restraint for the sake of another when it goes against something that you might wish to do so much. It's not easy to make so big an adjustment when one is already so set in one's ways.
We are imperfect creatures, he and I, but for all my cynicism, even I must admit that sometimes, just sometimes, faith pays off.
