Sweetness Without Disappearing

Lately, I’ve been running my life in maintenance mode—fitting in moments of work, stretching, journaling, painting, eating too much, trying not to feel too much. I keep searching for something to do so I don’t have to stop. Because when I stop, I hear it—the question: Is this it?

Saturday night, we stayed in and made love. Talked about living together. Marriage, even. The whole thing felt soft and surreal. I even lost my ring that same week. I asked him why he’d brought up marriage the very first night we got together.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

I didn’t believe him but let it slide.

Then he asked if marriage was on my vision board (it's never been, but the topic has been coming up in an otherworldly, synchronous way into my consciousness). He was amused. He later asked again, more playfully:

“Do you want to be my wife?”

I couldn’t even meet his eyes!

“Stop asking that question so casually,” I said. “Like it’s nothing...”

The next day, I was cutting some white fabric for a project, and he took a photo of me. Said it looked like I was preparing for my wedding. I wonder if he’s always wanted to get married, but the women before me didn’t. Maybe they were modern, independent. Maybe I am, too.

That morning, I’d made him breakfast. Nothing fancy, just something before he left for his volunteering work. He was surprised. Said it reminded him of when he was a teenager and his mom used to make him toast. I don’t want to be someone’s mother. But I also felt sad that such a small gesture was so unfamiliar to him in past relationships.

There’s a quiet intimacy in how our bodies fit—almost the same height. I used to feel self-conscious about being tall, but eye-level closeness feels grounding. He once told me my body had good “density.” I didn’t quite get it at first. Firm but not heavy? I know he meant it as a compliment, but I couldn't decipher its meaning nonetheless. Muscle wrapped in softness? Sounds about right.

He hasn’t been able to focus on work lately. He says he’s not motivated. He seems like the kind of person—like me—who loves time off. Who doesn’t? But I wonder how aligned we really are when it comes to money (our relationship with it and how we go about making and spending it).

I want to make more, passively. I want to focus better. I want to stop surviving and start shaping a life. I think about my art mentor, who chose to be single to protect his art practice. I admire his discipline. His solitude. He’s built a kind of fortress around his creativity.

I don’t want a fortress, but I also don’t want to disappear.

P. and I aren’t fusionnels. We don’t blend into one person. One of our favourite activities is just staring into each other’s eyes. Or hugging. Or resting. Life is sweet with him. Maybe a bit too sweet? But maybe there’s no such thing. Maybe the trick is to learn how to hold sweetness and sovereignty at once.

I miss my closest friend. We’ve grown distant. She’s not into spirituality anymore. Says it contributed to her breakdown. I feel guilty, like I nudged her into something that didn’t serve her. But I couldn’t have known. I’m not a doctor. I just hope we can find our way back. I don’t want to lose my female friends, now that I’m in a relationship.

And I don’t want to lose myself either.

I want to be rich enough not to worry about food and bills and work. I want a driver’s license. A car. A peaceful home. A beautiful, ethical, legacy-creating life where love doesn’t ask me to shrink or serve, but to meet. Where sweetness has space to breathe. Where I belong to myself, and still let someone in.

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