47 – When You Looked At Me, What Did You See?

9/1/22

Lately, I’ve been reading Stag’s Leap by Sharon Olds, and it’s got me in a weird mood. Poetry does that sometimes.

The poems chronicle her divorce – leading up to it and following. 

I want to say to him, now, What
was it like, to love me – when you looked at me,
what did you see? 

I haven’t been divorced – regardless, I think we’ve all wondered, “What was it like, to love me? When you looked at me, what did you see?”

Maybe you question in the present tense. 
“What is it like, to love me? When you look at me, what do you see?”

The lens of love alters our vision. 
People places moments look different without love. And once we look with love, our view of whatever is on the other side is never the same. We’ve all seen through this lens, and we’ve all been seen through this lens.
And as a result, “What was it like, to love me? When you looked at me, what did you see?”

Sometimes love is nostalgic, idealistic. 

He peered
his long-lashed
chocolate brown eyes
into mine
that are made up
of the ocean’s blue
and sighed,
“I know you’d never hurt me.”

Sometimes love is painful, impermanent.

There isn’t any magic left between us – 
just swollen salty eyes
and raised voices
and hurt hearts
determined to misunderstand.

What I know is this – our lives are shaped by love. We carry love, we embody love. We look through the lens of love – at ourselves. At those around us. 

Love isn’t perfect. I’ve learned not to judge when my love was nostalgic, idealistic. When it was painful, impermanent.

Because there’s always more ahead:
I want to love easily. 
“What was it like, to love me?” 
It was easy.

I want to see in fullness.
“When you looked at me, what did you see?”
I saw a person deserving of tenderness, of understanding, of grace.

May we carry,
may we embody.
May we be shaped by,
may we see through
the lens of love.

Lightly,
Leah