Goddamn, it feels nice to be loved. To be hugged and covered in kisses and held like there's nothing wrong with me.

Or maybe, like there IS something wrong with me. But being accepted despite that wrongness, in all those inadequacies and failings. To be told I'm beautiful anyway, that I'm wanted anyway.

I have so many thoughts about how he is wrong, ways I want him to be different, things he could do better. Our values aren't similar enough. He's too oblivious to protect me. He's too scatterbrained not to be a burden.

But he is kind. And when I told him I thought I needed help, he came without hesitating. And he used the ability that only he seems to have, to speak past my ever-swirling thoughts directly to my heart, to tell me I'm not broken. And on some level, I heard him. I felt more whole.

(It is horrible but honest to say this next part.) He's not the kind of person whose love I want.

But, he makes me feel good, so much better than anyone who's been closer to that ideal. He loves me best. His tenderness is a blessing. It is a mercy: entirely undeserved grace that lightens my burdens of living through another day.

I can learn from him.

Probably not forever, but for now.

I am grateful.