“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”
~F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Other Side of Paradise

This Fitzgerald quote screamed at me the moment I found it more than a year ago, when I was well into my relationship with Special Man Friend. He and I connected fairly quickly on a level that took us both by surprise, and to be honest, scared the shit out of me.

I value intimacy. I thrive on trust. Intimacy, to me, is that familiar place that is safe. Intimacy allows me to be vulnerable to another human being. It permits me to exist without fear, without pretense. But it is far from easily attained. I am generally slow to trust people. My guy knows more about me than anyone else does, but even before we reached that level of factual knowledge, the intimacy was there. It’s not something that my logical brain can explain. We just fit. I knew and felt fairly quickly that he was my kindred. He got me, in a way that made me feel protected, understood, and accepted.

At the same time, knowing that he loves me exactly as I am now, I am free to be who I want to be. I am free to decide, through self-reflection, what things I want to change or who I want to be, because I am safe with him, always. If I try something, and fail, he will be there, loving me and tending to my bruises. If I try something and succeed, he will be there, loving me and applauding my success. He is proud of me. This is how he loves me.

Though why he loves me, I may never quite understand.

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