Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never know what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.

I tend to remember a lot of insignificant things. Smells. Tastes. People's hands. Eyes. The way they walk. I notice a lot of things that most don't. I tend to become rather nostalgic, especially as of late. I look back at a past that haunts me, yet is silenced by the happy times I share with him, now. I have played many different roles in the past, and I have known to be a rather different person in each relationship. I think all people are like that. We are all different in each relationship. I have been the hopeless romantic, the damsel-in-distress, the heartless bitch, the battered victim, the unhappy adultress, the mistress, the golddigger, the fuck buddy, and countless others. Those are just the relationships that I can recall at the moment. Maybe not as significant as some others, but those are a few of the roles that I have partaken in. But lately I haven't done either. I haven't faked being someone to be more appealing. I haven't fluffed myself up or dumbed myself down to be someone's illicit fantasy. I have been......ME. Plain and simple.

I read back on all my myspace blog entries and see so many parts of me, shinning through the mirred words.

I see my cry for help. I see myself trying to surface. Trying.

But never truly getting through.

I've always been afraid of who I am. For many reasons:

1. I don't think I'm as nice as I wish I was.
2. I say things without thinking of the consequences.
3. I try too hard to make everyone happy.
4. I have become a rather selfish and introverted person lately.
5. I have never been able to get past my guilt and resentment towards things and people.
6. I don't know if I really love myself.

I just reflect on my past a lot. To see how I have grown. And to value the wonderful things in my life, such as Randy. Last night he ran a bath for me. It had to be the one and only thing that no one has ever really done for me, that I have always wanted. I mean he does these amazing things for me, that others may think are simple or what-not, but I have never had someone treat me like that. I don't even know how to act. Should I be mad? Glad? I don't want to grow accustomed to something that may not occur as often later on. He buys me flowers and chocolates and writes me sweet things.

And then I feel guilty for not doing these things in return. But I don't want him to think that I am just copying him. I want to have my own original ideas. I want him to know that I love him and think of him all day. That I dream of him at night and that I can't wait to see him after work. It brightens my days. Last night as I soaked and pruned up in my bath, I stared at the candles burning...and I had a moment of silence underwater. I just heard the mechanical heartbeat of my washing machine. I lay there underwater. Floating. Suspension without suspense. It was great. I tried to remember some of the nice things my ex-husband did for me. I couldn't think of any. Just the occasional bouquet of carnations, to apologize for never being there. He seldom helped me. I had to nag him to do simple chores around the house. Randy does them automatically. And it frightens me. I don't know how to thank him. Or how to tell him that he doesn't need to do that.

He is always helping me. I never help him. And that bothers me.

I don't want him to feel as though I just keep around so he can wash my dishes or take out my trash. Or to help with groceries. I want him to know that I don't need those things even though I truly appreciate it. I'm dumbfounded at times. He just does things. Without me asking. And I don't know what to say.

So thank you, Randy. I love you. For being a better man, than any I have ever known.

For loving me freely and openly.

For taking the time and effort to do sweet things for me, when I don't deserve them.

For coming over and holding me while we sleep.

For just being you. Perfect. For. Me.