Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2003-06-27 05:00 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2003-06-27 05:00 pm
He's worried about me? He can't possibly be worried about me.
But I guess he is.
Only the slight shading of voice, the extra firmness on, "And learn to take care of yourself", told me so. But he is. He must be. He can't be.
But, though I'd swear to him in sickness or health, strength or weakness, he sees the weakest side of me. He rarely does get to see me in full glory of my strength. He just sees the pieces and patches them back together with a prayer that maybe they'll stick this time.
And he worries.
And instead of petting and encouraging my weakness as those who desired to see me weak might do, he kicks my ass, hauls me up by the scruff of the neck, and makes it clear to me that my only acceptable solution is to become strong and whole as quickly as possible, and he won't hear of anything else. But he does it gently enough so that I don't dread it, so that I'll show him my broken places.
And when there are no broken places left, he's made it abundantly clear that he delights in my strength and my joy. He used to make a game out of making me smile if I looked sober for any reason. He'd say things to me until he got a grin out of me, at which point his face would light up. I watched for that. Sometimes when I thought he needed cheering up, I coaxed him to make me smile, just for seeing that answering beam of sunlight.
Only the slight shading of voice, the extra firmness on, "And learn to take care of yourself", told me so. But he is. He must be. He can't be.
But, though I'd swear to him in sickness or health, strength or weakness, he sees the weakest side of me. He rarely does get to see me in full glory of my strength. He just sees the pieces and patches them back together with a prayer that maybe they'll stick this time.
And he worries.
And instead of petting and encouraging my weakness as those who desired to see me weak might do, he kicks my ass, hauls me up by the scruff of the neck, and makes it clear to me that my only acceptable solution is to become strong and whole as quickly as possible, and he won't hear of anything else. But he does it gently enough so that I don't dread it, so that I'll show him my broken places.
And when there are no broken places left, he's made it abundantly clear that he delights in my strength and my joy. He used to make a game out of making me smile if I looked sober for any reason. He'd say things to me until he got a grin out of me, at which point his face would light up. I watched for that. Sometimes when I thought he needed cheering up, I coaxed him to make me smile, just for seeing that answering beam of sunlight.