BELOVED

I was once loved. I remember it like it was yesterday. He was amazed by the fullness of my calves. The smooth skin on my back and the way my laugh echoed through his little house. There in his house I dusted and scrubbed, I even tip toed and cleaned the top of the fridge because I knew he was tall enough to see the dirt that I didn’t. When the sun set I bathed and perfumed every part of me because he liked to kiss unexpected places. He once kissed the back of my knees and I was mortified that someone would trust me enough to believe that even that would be clean. I got used to his random kisses.

My grandmother taught me how to knit using sticks and the wool of an old sweater. I saw how an old sweater had transformed into a really long scarf by simply pulling one thread of cotton and then weaving the same thread into a pattern. It was fascinating. He met me when I was a raggedy old sweater with a loose, hanging thread. He pulled the thread, unravelled me until I forgot who I was before me and then patiently he weaved me into himself. Day by day because of his expert hands and patient resolve I became a new being except this time I was bright and bold but too woven deep in him. He understood me easily, it was scary how my same words would have life when he heard them. Being seen by him made me real, it made me see myself. It wasn’t long before I became addicted to a love that was ours. It wasn’t long until I began to ache for his attention, his approval and his affection. I was afraid of losing him. I became aggressive and territorial, defending my position in his life and side eyeing every girl who would have even thought of taking what is mine. I was once loved and the man that loved me was happy with just me. He chuckled at my jealousy in the calm way that reassured me and told me that he was flattered that I was jealous but I had nothing to worry about. We walked in the sun and let it change us. It tanned him, it left me shiny and darker. His skin smelled like citrus, a fresh electric smell that I started to associate with the smell of love. He was the lover, I was the beloved. How was I ever going to live in a world with no him? Our love was a big bold woven scarf that I wore proudly around my neck. He was the bold bright red and yellow that gave it life and I was the nudes and browns that gave it balance.

I have no suitors or man on my arm, I woman alone and in most minds I have been alone for long but they know I am not a prude or a virgin and neither do I wish to be one. Our love taught me things and developed things inside me that I do not wish to erase. I still walk with the air and confidence of a woman loved and people think I have a man until they see my finger with no ring. My hair is starting to grey and I am no longer lithe and supple. It hurts me when I try to remember the feeling of your hands touching my back but I can’t. I thought losing you would be like taking apart a scarf of two fibres woven together but it wasn’t because in our case you left but I kept the sweater. I can’t remember your exact touch or your kiss but I can remember how you fit in my bed. Once in a while when the orange trees are blooming and bearing fruit, I catch the scent of citrus and then I remember it just like it was yesterday that I was once loved.