Ms. Jolie, double mastectomy survivor
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My Princess,
I wouldn’t call it mixed emotions my heart dissonance over your decision.
As much as I didn’t consider it ‘our’ decision, I appreciate your concern for my feelings. No, let’s call it what it really was: Your fear.
Of loss.
Losing your breasts you somehow juxtaposed to losing me; the precision cutting and removal of such an intimate part of your anatomy somehow translated to the cutting away of me from our union–as if our romance is so fragile.
Come, stand in the mirror while I shadow you. It’s OK, babygirl, my tenderness hasn’t abandoned my hands, my intentions, our union. Come on now, hold your head up and face the mirror; there, the mirror’s not going to criticize. Train your eyes squarely into the looking glass.
And watch my hands. Your shoulders are majestic–no need for the straps. Easy. The fabric will fall away from your upper arms with an elegance befitting a princess.
No, don’t eyefall. I need your gaze in the reflector. There, I’ll hold you a little tighter so the insecurity, what remains of it, washes away into never-again-land.
I’m tender. I’m romantic. As I’ve always been.
Shhh, it’s quite alright. Easy now, I want to read your skin braille; there, your lower neck is so warm. I’m reading, each finger of this heart of mine, these hands of mine want to read further the nervous skin script bared by the cleavage’s remnant.
It’s OK, Love. I want to touch you there, I want to braille surface read what once was there, mid-chest, tender against my palms, gently I press and I can feel your pulse. Your life pulse.
Our romance pulse.
Does that hurt? Of course not. I know no other way than tenderness.
Yes, they’re gone. Forever gone they are.
But I’m not. And neither will our romance.
Can I touch you there? Everywhere? Like a man even more in love?
Men can get breast cancer too, you know. Who knows if or when my time may come. I’ll need your touch as well.
Now look, there, in the mirror. What do you see, princess?
I see romance.
On Pamper-Her-Friday. And ever after.
Till death do us part,
Rg2
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Pamper the woman and forever live in her soul. -Rg2
© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®
Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 