It’s not like I didn’t try. I did. There were many hours where I put my personal goals and journey behind to simply, focus on you. Be there for you. We sat there, and talked, and kissed, and fell in love, and even spent nights cohabituating with each other, but eventually, my soul called to me and I did something remarkable. I said no, even though I was head over heels in love.

Am I crazy? The typical, oft discussed marriage versus career debate has never been more paramount in my mind. I debated, I felt torn in two, and I often wondered whether I was making the right decision. I was on a path, I had goals to accomplish, I was recovering from adolescent heartbreak, and I loved you, my new love, deeply; yet you wanted more than I could currently offer, and there were just some things I wanted to accomplish on my own.

Self esteem for me is really wrapped up in my self efficacy; and yet you wanted to share everything with me, right away. I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to report back to anyone just yet about my treasured hard won life and goals. You wanted to do it With me, and yet I wanted you to wait. Wait until I was fully ready. I was enjoying being independent, and crossing things off my list so I could silently cheer; after all, some hard, heart broken years have proved that I must be my own cheerleader above all. Yet you were my team.

I have to admit that in the rainbow trail of my personal successes spending time with you is like my personal pot of gold; I looked forward to time together immensely; sort of like a morning filled with the rainbow crunch of delicious cereal, or a night bathed in your dark, golden light.

But then there were the nights when I acquiesced to your demands and I just wanted to write; to focus; to bathe in the relaxation for the next little while of simply, being, free. We must have different relationship styles; as a writer, I love you, but I constantly pitter around and toy with the idea of riding solo at times, and enjoy a lot of mental space for my trauma and spending a lot of time alone.

I feel cruel; and ungrateful; and crazy for pushing you away so often. I am completely entranced with the person you are; yet it’s such a perfect case of could be right person, and wrong time. Yet life existed for me before I met you, I must say, and I must admit that my life path is calling to me from the wind.

I eventually realized that balance is important; and I want to see you soon. You say you don’t want to, and you’re working a lot. I’m crestfallen. I hope I hear from you soon, and I regret being such a war torn soldier in pursuit of my goals and passions, and neglecting our beautiful off again, on again relationship. I am a feminine warrior, and you are my God.

Yet we all have trauma, and before I lay beneath you in prayer, I must go to battle eventually; it’s important for my healing, my growth, my path, and my sanity.

It’s a rhythmic dance, we have, female warrior versus her male God, and yet the truce I have made in the fields of honor requires me to disavow impatience and move slowly, taking each new day one step at a time.

The American woman in me is rushed and corporate and typical in style and choices; yet the antiquated European Princess in my genes wants to dive slowly in to clear, deep seas of water. I am choosing to live a slow, mindful style of life, and if you, as lovely and perfect as you are, rushed me upon yourself I feel that I would simply drown in silent pleasure, and yet also scream in aloud pain.