You’re like Déjà Vu
By definition “Déjà Vu” is a common intuitive experience that has happened to many of us. The expression is derived from the French, meaning “already seen.” When it occurs, it seems to spark our memory of a place we have already been, a person we have already seen, or an act we have already done (definition found on this amazing thing we call the internet).
I met someone and that was the only word that came to me to describe it. The other description was the “opposite of panic and worry”. Which is not calm because calm would not encompass the excitement of the possibilities or the joy of hanging out with him. But when we’re together it’s like that. Like the opposite of panic. Which is really, super nice by the way.
If you haven’t noticed I haven’t been writing about it. Because well. But here’s the thing. I think, for everything else I’ve written it’s been important to write about it. I wrote this, but then could not share it, all the reasons why are written in it. But whatever it is and whatever it means and whatever it turns into, somewhere I want it written that I felt like this. Before it was actually familiar.
I wrote this to him really. And I did send it to him. And I didn’t say that oneday I might share it. And he is way more under the radar than me. But I cannot hide the writing; it just might make someone else brave enough to write too.
I cannot tell you how it just feels like home. Like you belong. Like something so familiar it already existed before it actually did. Like Déjà Vu. Or vegemite toast for breakfast. Or the smell of rain in the bush.
I cannot tell you because I am terrified it is all of those things. And what if it was? Then I would have to believe that somehow it worked to take time and get clear and ask for what I wanted. That the universe conspired to help me find you and all along you were just there. Just there. That is terrifying.
It’s terrifying because it matters. It’s terrifying because the possibility of what this is makes everything that happened before make complete and total sense and I am grateful for every stupid thing I ever did that happened before so this could be you. And me.
I cannot say this out loud. I cannot write this anywhere. I cannot tell you. Not yet. I’m scared I would jinx it. That if I said it out loud it couldn’t possibly be true and somehow I’d be left with all the things I believed before about men and relationships. You make those things not true. You are kind and beautiful. You are gentle and loving. You somehow, just take us all in. Me and all my everything, and them and theirs. They want to eat you up. And that is a good thing. And I did not believe that was possible. And now I do.
Here’s the truth. You feel like home. You feel like family. Like someone I have known forever. Every time I ask you something to just get to know you say the answer I expected you would say. Not that I even knew I expected it, just that when it comes out it’s exactly the right words. I have a sense that with you it could be easy. All that other stuff wouldn’t be the stuff to worry about. It would just be the solid foundation we all needed to go and to be who we are. I can totally be me with you, and that is the bit I was unsure if I could trust. Just being me. But you, you make that OK. You make that the best bit.
If it was possible to tell you all this without freaking out I would just sit in front of you and tell your kind eyes that I am scared and not-even a little bit scared all at the same time. That it doesn’t matter what it is or what it means or exactly how it going to be, but right now it’s just the next right thing to do.
And that’s all because it’s only Wednesday. I don’t want to get carried away.
If I told the world that, would that be OK? If you had it in to write a love letter, what would you tell them? Can you do that? Can you do that today? And put in the bits you would put in if the whole world wasn’t going to read it. Just him or her. All those bits. I did sneak some bits out because they’re for him. And there are so many more bits I haven’t written yet.
The truth is, there are only two things. Love or fear. One expands you and one contracts you. Love is open and vulnerable and shiny. Fear is hiding, and closed off and dull. Don’t let your fear tarnish your love, just let your love be the thing that lights up the whole world with it’s shiny-ness. Write it out, draw it out, speak it out, but be it. And everything will be all right.
Like Déjà Vu. Like vegemite toast for breakfast.