You are medicine, you are healing, you are what I need. Not the constant dopamine hit that I took, and the withdrawal of the last twenty men that I tried to love but that never seemed to love me back because they left and came back and left and came back before leaving for good. 

They left me searching for the next hit. Truthfully, I still search sometimes. My body still remembers the rush of knowing a man is undone just by the site of you. A quick glance from the eyes to the lips even lower studying the curvature of your body is enough to send shockwaves through a man. Make him buy you drinks, buy you dinner. It’s the first sign of his interest. The first sign that leads to love, but it does not show respect. Show me a man that respects women, and I will show you a man that was raised by a woman who respects herself and taught her son to do the same. 

When I say you are medicine, I mean my scars still itch, but you kiss them anyway. When I say you are healing, I mean you set boundaries for me, and they are good. When I say you are what I need, you, darling, are what I wish I had from the very beginning, but I’m glad. I’m glad that I went through those men because now I will cherish you like licking the whip cream off the cherry on top of a sundae, slow and sensuous, relishing every moment, you can taste the cherry bursting flavor, the sticky white whip cream residue oozing down the sides. The best part about eating the cherry is the rest of the sundae. You still have the rest of the sundae below to eat, and we have so many more Sundays of our own, and someday I hope to spend forever and a day kissing old scars that are faded and no longer itch because we took the time to heal them. 

By Hyacinth Hale