I am passionate. Impulsive. Dauntless. I have enough attributes to make anyone carefully ponder before considering crossing me. Because if I take the trouble, I can spot pretty well other’s vulnerabilities. Then I can pick up the traces of all the things they don’t want to face, unbearable things their ego don’t want to hear, load my assertion with them and firmly hit the target. Bluntly. I take no prisoners.
I can hardly recognise myself under such a portrayal. That’s an old me I’m not so proud of anymore, but even a little ashamed, I might say. An old me that slowly withers, leaving its place for the buds of a new me, more balanced, more generally inclined to reconciliation and mutual contentment.
I don’t fight like that anymore. At least not with him. He initiated me into the art of arguing and helps me master it. I never knew arguing with someone could be like this. Like a dance where even if you don’t know the steps yet, you can still enjoy the closeness. It’s paradoxical. I always thought that arguing with someone could only push you further apart. But arguing with him it’s somehow therapeutical. It lifts barriers. It crumbles walls. It levels insecurities. He let me dive into his ocean of experiences and feelings without any caution of his part, without reservations. And then I turn to myself feeling safe enough to not want to attack. Loved enough to not want to hurt. Serene enough to be able to forgive. Inspired enough to want to write about it. And disarmed. Disarmed of doubts and fears that are so easily used as weapons of obliteration. Because when you choose a heavy word, it’s like loading your gun for a Russian roulette. What you say can’t always be taken back. Just like a fired bullet. Sometimes can be extracted and the wound might heal. Sometimes it doesn’t. It just backfire at you.
So I’m playing it nice. There’s no winner when you fight. Not even when you have the last word. Not even when you are the one who receives the apologies. But even if it’s bound to happen every now and then, I no longer feel the need to carry any artillery with me. Just a deep understanding, genuine trust and respect of his feelings and motives. And of course, for spicing things up, my teasing kit.