Not the First...

My story isn't new. It's been told infinite times. Even so, I feel it as though it were new. Because this time it's mine. Yesterday it was someone else's. Tomorrow it will belong to someone different again. But today...

I am just a man sitting on the shore taking comfort in the waves. Taking a moment to escape an argument with his wife... and trying to figure out what to do next. My story isn't new. People have been doing this... exactly this... for tens of thousands of years. Perhaps more. And if anyone has ever worked out exactly what to do, well, they haven't shared it with the rest of us.

But it is a comfort greater than the waves themselves to realise it. And it is a reminder that it is all just a part of things.

I feel their hands on my shoulders, those who have come before. And they are smiling and telling me that it's all so silly. But it's okay... because this is how it goes. That which is beautiful needs that which is ugly to make it so. And that which makes us smile needs the thing that upsets us. Humans are strange like that. We'll never love forever unless we're reminded what it's worth.

And she is worth it.

She is fire and she is wrath. But she is also kindness and innocence. The warrior and the little girl.

I may never understand some of the things she does or why such silly things seem to matter so much. I may never be smart enough. I may never know the perfect thing to say... but what I do say will be honest.

She may never understand some of the stupid things I do... I don't either a lot of the time.

I might butt heads with warrior but i will always protect the little girl. ...And then make up with the warrior later.

My Aneta.

Like Ariadne. Like Helen of Troy. She is a name on a page to you. While she is everything to me. I am not the first to feel these things. Our story isn't new.

But it is ours.

How many men have sat on the shore and looked out to sea? How many have thought these same thoughts? On the best of days she makes me feel that I am everything... And on the worst of days she makes me feel that I am nothing... She makes me feel.

I am not the first to feel these things. And I will not be the last.

Is it possible that a feeling might have a life of its own? Jumping from person to person like an ancient, possessing spirit? Here since the distant beginning. Both a curse and a teacher, depending on the host. Some flying to rage while others wonder on the mystery of it all. Could it be that this feeling that sits with me now is as aware of me as I am of it? If it is, then I should say thank you.

Love is a gift so rarely given and often poorly received. But even when it is given and received by genuine, honest and open hearts... it can still be taken for granted if a person is not reminded that it is worth fighting for.

The warrior is needed here too. This feeling is that reminder.

I am not the first to feel it. And I will not be the last. My story isn't new.

But my heart is hers.