The Avalanche

Falling in love with him is terrifying.

When you go into a situation with no expectations, telling yourself "No, I'm not falling in love again. I'm not being hurt again. I'm not giving myself up again," you don't expect to get swept up in everything he is. He had expectations, and I packed them up in a little box, putting them away in the closet. I had no time for expectations, but I could spare a minute for watching movies when the kids went to bed. I had no time for feelings, but I could take some time to roll around in the sheets, laughing with him while I scratched my fingernails through his chest hair. I had no time for falling in love, but with every twist and turn in the way he cared for me, I found myself pulling the box down from the closet shelf to peek inside.

Falling in love with him is like climbing a mountain after a fresh snowfall. We walk together, but I let him push ahead further so I could climb it alone. As I climb, I slip a little bit, but I keep my feet under me, determined not to fall. The mountain grows steeper, and sometimes I stumble, falling for him just a little bit, but standing myself back up on my own. I brush the feelings away like packed snow on my jeans, and keep climbing, determined that I won't fall again. Every time I find my stability, the snow slips out from under my feet again, and I fall just a little more. I get back up, brush it all off again, cursing myself for not being better equipped.

Then we reach the peak of that mountain, and he's standing there, looking at me with that little bit of expectation in his eyes. He holds his hand out to me, inviting me to enjoy the view, and I know I'm in trouble; his arms around my waist feel too good. The sound of his voice feels too much like home, the look in his eyes is too warm when I'm trying to keep my heart frozen.

We stand there, looking out at the amazing view, everything we could be, all of the potential greatness that we have together. Then the snow beneath my feet gives out, and I'm trapped in the avalanche. I can't see if he's falling with me, but I know I'm falling hard, and I'm falling fast, and it's terrifying. I can't control the descent anymore, I can't see what's coming, I can't see where I'm going. I can only hear his voice, and I hope that at some point maybe he'll grab my hand as we fall, and maybe we're falling together. For as absolutely frightened as I am, I have to admit... There's a bit of an adrenaline junkie in me, and I'm loving the chaos of the fall. The unpredictable nature of our predicament as we're swept off our feet and thrown down the descent is exciting, even if it's not what I planned for. All I can hope for is when we reach the bottom, that we're not broken.

I can't help but to laugh at the little things. The fact that he sees a threat in men that can't compare to him in any way, shape, or form. The fact that he apologizes for every time he falls asleep on the phone with me, despite the fact that it warms my heart that he calls me every night that he isn't with me, telling me about his day until the 16-hour workday catches up with him. I whisper goodnight to him with a little giggle every time, because I love being there with him, even when I can't be there with him. The fall becomes a little less terrifying every time I hear him laugh at a dirty joke, every time he shows me how much spending time with me is worth to him. We don't have to go far, we don't have to go out; curled up together in front of a movie is just fine with me, just keep holding me.

The scary part is coming soon, I can feel it. The avalanche has to be slowing down soon, and I know I'm going to have to admit that I enjoyed it. I'm going to have to take the little box of expectations out of my closet, spread them out around my home, everywhere I can already see him when he's not here. Instead of waiting for the ground to give out from under me, I'm going to have to leap, because I know he knows my fears, and he's not going to be the one to push. I might not be there at this exact moment, but I know the leap is coming. I know that the avalanche has made its point, and my heart has popped out of the deep freeze, thawed out by every grin and silly joke and prod. We've run back up the mountain together, and this time, I'm going to be in control. Instead of the blind fall, we'll jump, and this time, there won't be any doubt or hesitation as our feet leave the ground, and I take the biggest risk of all. Soon, he'll know it all, be certain of where I stand when I look him in the eye and pass him my heart, admitting those three silly little words that have no business being as heavy as they are.