Today’s prompt: Today’s prompt has us borrowing love. If the one you love were still here, how would they love you in this? How would they care for you? How would they see you? Can you access their love for you in that way, to imagine how they would tend to you if they knew you were in pain?
If Cooper were loving me through this . . .
He would be solid and steadfast; Cooper was both of those. He wouldn’t bail on me or push me or try to fix me. Cooper was loyal to his people. Oh, I might make him uncomfortable now, cloaked in grief as I am, accessorized with anger. Seeing me so affected might make him squirm, but he wouldn’t run. When Cooper loved, he loved completely. Love means you stay.
So, he’d stay with me through my grief.
He would be quiet but present. Cooper could sit with me, beside me, ride shotgun, and not feel compelled to fill the silence. Like me, he was not afraid of silence. Silence wouldn’t be filled with meaningless chatter or statements of the obvious. Unless the words had merit, silence would be filled with his presence–a comforting wrap, mountain man aromatherapy.
And he’d let me go in my grief.
Cooper understood the need for solitude. He would give me space, but wouldn’t abandon me. He knew the difference. He knew that sometimes a solitary ride is cathartic, but that sometimes, I need to be the passenger. Sometimes, I want to–need to–lean on myself, put my weight into turning and steering, but once in a while, could I please just ride? Just hold on, rest my forehead on his back, and enjoy the ride? In this dichotomy, he would follow my lead; he knew what it was like to not know his own mind. He would understand my inability to tell someone else what I need because I myself don’t know what I need.
Mostly, though, if Cooper were loving me through this, he would just be.
Woods Writes 