I’ll Never Be Your “New” Again

It’s a hard realization. A stone cold fact that leaves me with a lump of fear at the base of my throat.

I’ll never be Your “new” again.

That freshness that exists when you meet somebody and their whole world is undiscovered. What jokes of yours will they laugh at hardest? What stories of life do they have to share in the dark of night, setting your soul soaring with the fascination of a strange wonderful creature that you hadn’t even known to exist?

What will they taste like?


The flat stomach that’s never born the weight of child. The discovering of siblings and unique favorites and unidentified quirks. New music. New food.

New butterflies.

New orgasms.

No matter how much I love You, love myself, love us…

…I feel old.

I told You of these fears today and Your words were the salve I needed.

I may never be Your “new” again. You know my world better than I even do sometimes. You’ve seen me at my very worst: sobbing and snotting, lying… hiding, covered in sweat, covered in vomit. Withdrawing from addiction. Withdrawing from You.

It’s an inevitable occurrence; a natural set of relationship occurrence. It can never be unseen. It can never be erased.

No matter how hard you try, if you make a partnership with another, the histories become all told and the present becomes a parallel. “Newness” cannot exist with permanence.

But Your words made me realize that as we stand at the wake of our newness, it isn’t about a massive loss but instead a million little gains.

In the death of our newness, Your jokes have become our jokes- shared, told by us both, each of us telling the part we reveal best. We have inside jokes, words and phrases and stories that only the other gets, a secret language that nobody else can even try to learn because the secret is shared experience.

You read the tilt of my chin; I have Your body memorized by touch. We come together in the dark of the night to make major decisions for our family, to absorb the wonder of silence that exists when two people can be together and just be, to fuck with the freedom of knowing somebody else’s pleasure like a memorized map.

I know what You’ll taste like, and it’s so fucking delicious. I can’t wait to taste it, You, again.

And I know that I will because out with the new and in with the old ushers in a dependability and security that centers me, cements me, carries me throughout the day.

I’ve made a life with You, made actual human life with You, studied You like a science, listened to Your secrets, encouraged Your evolution, and You’ve done the same for me.

The butterflies have flown but in their place is the burning of a fire that has been roaring for years, now smoldering hot and long withstanding.

Now You only have to whisper “those words” in my ear and our connection, our energy, our training brings forth my undoing.

I’ve never felt older.

I’ve never felt happier.

I told You of these fears today and Your words were the salve I needed.
‘You may never be My “new” again. But you will always be My “home.”‘

I’ll do my very best to remember when the doubt creeps in that there is absolutely

no place like home.

Kind Regards,
Mrs. Darling

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