I am outspoken, opinionated, and difficult. I have a hard, cynical edge. I laugh too loudly, judge too harshly. I am impatient and short tempered. I am independent. Driven. Feisty. Logical to a fault. Jaded.
Sometimes I lay awake in the dark, fighting with the demon that whispers to me that I’m not good enough. Not good enough in my work; not good enough at home. Just not. I crave perfection, and rarely attain anything close unto it.
Then he calls me Princess. He calls me pumpkin, buttercup, cupcake. I am his pet, his strawberry, his lemon drop. He speaks to me, soft and sure: “Kitten,” he says to me, and my world goes silent.
And in that moment, I am me. The very truest me. The me who exists without expectation or pretense. I am not an impatient, difficult woman. I’m just a girl.And I am his.
Everything else fades, and my mind quiets. I exist, in my core, at the center of my body. Waiting. My mind is still. I am his princess: beautiful, treasured, good and kind. I am his kitten: adorable, playful, wanted. I am everything he ever says I am… a deliciously sweet cupcake, a luscious, juicy strawberry, a treasured and loved pet.
And in that moment, for just a moment, what I desperately crave is finally mine. Because for a time, I am exactly what he wants. I breathe him in, and I breathe out perfection.