I used to be really big into numerology. Take the number three: the “divine” number; symbolizing the soul and the exuberance of life, representing expansion and the principles of increase and growth (the initiating force of 1 + the germinating energy of 2 = the fruitfulness of 3).
Clearly, I’m not as into it anymore. ::cackle::
This year was my third anniversary with Daddy. And it’s special, not just because three is a magic number, but because it’s the longest romantic relationship I’ve had.
I’ve had romantic partnerships that eventually transitioned into romantic friendships, friends with benefits situationships, or platonic friendships that I still maintain to this day. But for some reason – well, several reasons really – I could never cultivate a romantic partnership that lasted more than a couple years. (Even my marriage: the whole relationship, from first meeting to the day I left, was less than 3 years.)
I’m his Number One – I make it so when he orders. He’s my Moon & Stars – he knows how to regulate the tides of my emotions, brightens my night sky, and fills my life with shimmering light and life. He’s stable, constant, solid. He reflects me back to myself. And I lose myself sometimes staring at his beauty.
Our relationships started with words. An online message that never ended. Even now, we have ceaseless conversations on every topic the wind sends our way. I don’t think I will ever tire of questioning his thought processes, examining how he arrived at his conclusions and scrutinizing the rationale behind it. I’m continuously astonished at the things he teaches me unawares, as I prod his brain and see the world through his eyes.
His touch comforts me. His presence relaxes me. I’m surprised at how much patience he has for my perfectionist nature, my insistence on explicit and detailed words and actions, my bossy entreaties to do certain things the correct (read: my) way, my sometimes cluelessness and inability to take a hint. He never tires of me, and that is the most shocking thing of all. Especially since it’s been almost two years of us cohabiting – I have an inexhaustible number of quirks when it comes to my every day living space and my every day habits; nevertheless, we usually seem to move fluidly around each other, like water, every so often coming back together seamlessly, flowing into one another, entangling.
We have so many dynamics infused into our relationship. As everyone who knows me has heard me say many many times, I don’t like labels. Mostly because I don’t think they are adequate enough to tell the whole story. Daddy and I have too many labels to list; in my opinion, labels lose their purpose of being easy shorthand if there are too many of them or if explaining what they mean takes up all your time. But I like that our connection can’t be constrained into a few sentences. It reflects how I feel my entire being expanded once I met Daddy. I don’t think I realized the full potential I had until he allowed me to be whatever I wanted to be at any given moment without judgement in his eyes or confusion in his words.
I don’t know how he did it, but he got me to open up. Open all the way up, laying myself bare to him. He’s seen every bit of both my amazing traits and my negativity. He’s stood by me through past hurts, illness, trauma, triggering events, heartache, spurts of my own violence, my weird moods, and my frequent introverted retreats into myself when I can’t stand to be bothered (which I can tell pinch his heart – yet I can do nothing but watch silently in some area towards back of my brain, wanting to reassure him but at the same time bereft of the energy needed for performative emotions). Despite all of this, he still insists on showing me that I am wonderful, a blessing. But I know the truth: He’s the real blessing.
He thinks he’s darkness, a devil. I know he’s light, and I can see his wings.
Does this make him Lucifer? I don’t know.
I do know that this makes him mine.