Today, I belong, because I choose to belong. What do you mean? You ask. You don’t know me, I say. You cannot decide if I belong or not. I decide. Like a chameleon, better yet a Kaleidoscope, I fit in here, and there, tomorrow I do not fit in at all. The next day, I fit in where I chose to, maybe three places at once. Who am I? I am me.
He kisses me gentle, right on the tip of my nose. Then he feels his way across the room in the dark, to dive into his side of the bed. He complains, again and again, I am a pushy spoilt brat, he says. I know. But yesterday, he said I was a pushover, because I let someone walk all over me. I edge closer and he swears softly. Sometime in the dark of the night, I know his arms will envelope me and comfort me. I know. I have no doubt.
I am right. He smiles when he wakes up, and this time I ask, who are you? Just like me, why I love him. Strong and arrogant, when he chooses to be, sweet and gentle when he wants to be. We belong with each other, because we choose to. We live with and for each other, we work with and for each other, we fight with and for each other, we choose to.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? To chose to belong? What if the belonging does not chose? What if the choice changes, the options increase? Who, what is the opportunity cost? But that is the beauty of life, and love. Nothing is certain. And yet we choose. I chose. He chose. To be young, carefree, sort of in love, sort of not in love. Modern, classy, not quite debonair, not enough cultured. Partners. Friends. Belonging.