Thank you for loving me
So now when I look at the men around me, they don’t look like complicated puzzles; scary, affronted or proud. They look like men who are earning an honest living, trying to figure us out.
He blows me kisses whenever he leaves the room, even if he’s just going to the toilet.
He buys us books to read so that our brains can become sharper and so that it may serve as a way to ameliorate my writing. He gives me gentle queues whenever he feels my eyes need time to rest from staring at the screen for too long.
Whenever I show any symptom, he takes the time to search on the internet and tells me the steps I should take. He shows me when he’s apprehensive that his indecisiveness would lower my respect for him.
Thank you for changing your mind and choosing a better option, the one you think is safer for us.
He’s industrious. Whenever he’s ill with a cold, he would always take medicine until he is better. He would reach for that glass of water, that orange juice or take that extra nap wherever he can so he could be present for all his responsibilities.
But whenever he’s really not feeling okay, it’s okay for him to take a break. To curtail his hours or quit his job for some time until he’s ready to find another one, no one is here to judge his decision, his well- being is important.
Like the man he is, he realised that the tap water may not be the best thing for us to drink. So he went to the store and bought us a water filter.
There are times when I become afraid but I never need to say a word, he notices and comforts me with his cute little pokes. He pokes me to let me know that he knows, he pokes me to let me know that everything will be okay. He pokes me when he can’t find the words, I had to learn what these pokes meant, so that I could understand that they are not meant as a shortcut but as a deeper means of communication.
He pokes me when I am in the middle of doing something because at that moment he needed me to do something for him, and he’s not sure whether I would be upset. Yes I usually am a little annoyed, because when I am focused, I stay in there for a while.
Although he’s not perfect there are many things that I can work with. We do argue and we do fight and sometimes they can get nasty, but there’s no growth without an argument that sends you down a rabbit hole of self discovery.
He fed me when my stomach was refusing food. He allowed me to experiment in his kitchen until I was eating on my own. He bought me weights so I could work out and encourage me when I would give up and now it is a habit to workout twice a week, now he’s the reason for my healthy mind.
He painted the flowers in colour when I use to see them in black and white, he taught me to forgive my father when all I did was complain about his absence. He taught me to take a hug instead of always trying to get my point across.
He points out ways that I am pernicious, and even though it is hard to hear, it still is something that I am grateful for. Then he points out his own destructive tendencies and to that I am beholden.
So now when I look at the men around me, they don’t look like complicated puzzles; scary, affronted or proud. They look like men who are earning an honest living, trying to figure us out.
You’re men who aren’t perfect but at least some of you are trying, and while it’s always easier to bunch you all up together; I am glad that we are all living this life together whether in harmony or in war.
About the Creator
Caitlin Charlton
Writer first. Close reader and self‑taught critic shaping eloquence.
A survivor reclaiming her territory.
I write dark fiction and poetry through symbol, shadow, and fracture.
Always sharpening the craft. ✏️🔥👠
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