There’s that moment when you realize that this is real — that this is the stuff forever is made of. It isn’t lightning, or sparkles, or any of the glitzy Hollywood glamour bullshit that was shoved down your throat since you were old enough to watch Dirty Dancing wrapped in a blanket next to your best friend devouring a bowl of popcorn.
Those relationships are codependent bullshit. They cause a dopamine rush because they activate the broken parts of our limbic system that owe their dysfunction to our alcoholic parents or the high we’d get from chasing perfectionism. You’ve done enough self-growth to understand the dopamine rush (and fall) by now.
Lighting and glitter are not what forever is made of. Lighting is a brief, beautiful, and dangerous fire-starter, and glitter may hang around forever but only in that find it in the cracks of the floorboards for decades sort of way. It hangs around, it doesn’t do anything to make your life better, and occasionally you get angry at it for sticking into every fucking nook and cranny.
Forever is self-reflective.
Forever is made of genuine, open conversations that start with him complaining about his teenage daughter and then asking, “What are my issues?” as he leans against the counter in faded denim and a t-shirt. You tilt your head to the side and look at him with an eyebrow raised and ask, “Really?”
And then you tell him that he doesn’t always put himself in other people’s shoes when he disagrees with them — that empathy doesn’t come naturally. You point out that he dated his ex-girlfriend for a year and never told her he loved her, which means he holds onto rotten fruit long past the expiration date, or he can’t articulate his feelings. He nods at you, smiling and sipping his Jack and coke. When you’re done, his eyes crinkle in the corners, then he kisses you.
“You’re right. I hold on too long, and I had trouble taking about feelings. But, I’m getting better. What do I do about communicating with Callie?”
And when you give him your two cents, which might only be worth one, he tells you you have a point and that doing those things will be hard. There’s no defensiveness. There’s curiosity — there’s an openness to self-improvement that you hadn’t seen from a man before.
Forever is comfortable.
Forever is made of the way you two don’t have to talk, and you can sit in silence and enjoy the cricket chirps or the warmth of a bonfire on an early Autumn evening. It’s realizing that you’d rather stay in than go out because you’ve finally found a life you don’t want to escape from.
Forever is snuggles.
It’s that quiet, dependable feeling of comfort when he wraps his arms around you and your temple fits snuggly against that spot on his shoulder that seems like it was shaped just for your head.
Forever is being cherished for being you.
Forever is found when you argue about politics — each of your falling on opposite sides of center — with no need to sway each other. The forever kind of love leaves space for you to have your opinions, argue your points, and not need to change the core of who you are to fit his mold.
Forever love looks for the values at the center of your being and holds those up like cherished jewels. That sort of love doesn’t care if you agree — and maybe even likes it a bit better when you don’t.
Forever is hot as hell.
Forever love doesn’t shame your sexual being — it doesn’t care how many dicks you’ve ridden, clits you’ve licked, or if you’ve never ridden or licked any. When it’s the two of you, it’s exploring bodies and touching new spaces and opening up to one another in ways you’ve never dreamed.
Suddenly he’s behind you, and your brain bounces from the feel of his hands gripping your hips to the spot he’s hitting just inside. He moans when you add the vibrator because he knows you have a clitoris and isn’t intimidated by silicone — he just likes when you squirm. Then you explode, and he holds you tighter and you’re back in that space where there aren’t any words big enough to hold the feeling, and you don’t really even need words anyway because you have the feel of his stubble against your skin.
Forever doesn’t last nearly long enough.
Molly Frances’s writing explores what it means to be human: relationships, families, sexuality, mental health, and growth. When she isn’t writing or working with clients, she’s either on a beach, or reading (or both). She lives with her husband, a pile of children, a rescue pup, and too many books. You can also find her on www.sexwithmolly.com, and Dipsea.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Derek Sutton on Unsplash
