Today I commit to mutual sustenance

Just like my mom, I had to make it to 47 years old to get this.

Love.

Real Love.

Someone who doesn’t just “accept you for you who you are”.

Saying those words doesn’t mean shit. Also “accept”?

The fuck is that?

I want need deserve more than “accept”.

Treasure.

Revere.

Believe.

Honor.

Hold space for exactly who I am with gratitude and grace and for God’s sake, joy.

Don’t keep me around if you will be anything but joyful to have me there. Don’t keep me as a prop in your misery or dismal subdued tolerating of this life.

Don’t act as if that is enough to sustain me this us. Love is sustenance. Mutual

fucking

sustenance.

Let me feed you, Daddy. Comfort food and Golden Raisin Oatmeal cookies and adoration and kisses and gazes into the deepest parts of my soul.

And I promise to let you feed me.