If It's Not Too Much to Ask...
In a man, the gentleness of a woman, the understated satisfaction instead of the effusive pride. The tenderness when touching a sleeping child, the respect given to people who have less in life, the laughter at the stupidest of jokes, the appreciation of wit and sarcasm, the quiet intelligence which need not be announced.
In a man, a passion that emanates from every pore, not loud, not necessarily proclaimed from the rooftop for all to hear, but a passion felt in the hunger in his kisses, the tightness of his embrace, the sweep of his caresses, in the quiet of solitude, in every move he makes.
A man who makes love to a woman not like she is the last woman on earth, but like she is the best and only woman on earth for him, forsaking all others. Who will hold her afterward, and in between, with respect and gentleness.
A man who will never make a woman walk behind him, will never force her to be strong for him, will never ask of her to say goodbye to her ambition to give birth to the fruits of his. Who is not defined by how strong he looks in comparison to the woman beside him. Who has long since defined his character by holding on to his dignity, sacrificing none of his integrity, in pursuing his dreams. Who will stand a woman on his shoulders if she cannot see the road ahead, who will have the courage to admit that she is better at one thing (most things) than he is, and not ever think less of himself.
A man who will see in the signs of age on a woman’s face and body, beauty and experience, and appreciate the added quality and depth time has given her. A child born and carried and raised and maybe even lost, moments of dancing in abandon in the rain, on the streets, in a crowded room, and alone, lovers –good and bad- had and abandoned, the memories of songs. A road chosen that not everyone traveled, a quiet sacrifice made, an excruciating pain survived. Laughs she had at her expense, a love for the simple and the mundane, and- depending on the circumstances- a feel for the complicated and the neutral and the patterned and the plain and riots of color and decidedly gray shades.
A man who does not define a woman by the designers she wears, or the places she goes to, or how she looks in a bathing suit, or the name of her family, or how she fits- or doesn’t- the standard so proudly provided by the marketing geniuses of the world.
In a man, the knowledge that strong, and generous, and kind, and caring, and smart are not qualities a woman should be privileged to have in a man, but qualities without which he would not even make the measure of what a real man is. That a woman who allows her doors to be opened and her chairs to be pulled out and her bags to be carried for her surrenders none of her strength, proclaims no dependence, acknowledges no inequality. That a woman who speaks her mind and does as it tells her has no balls but a brain she has chosen to use in the way it was intended.
In a man, the awareness that a woman can make it alone- no less happy or fulfilled- should she not find all that she wants in him, that she can always still look for those qualities in other men and not be confined to one option only, and, mostly,
In a man, the appreciation and gratitude that she has still chosen to place her hand in his and walk with him.
In a man, a passion that emanates from every pore, not loud, not necessarily proclaimed from the rooftop for all to hear, but a passion felt in the hunger in his kisses, the tightness of his embrace, the sweep of his caresses, in the quiet of solitude, in every move he makes.
A man who makes love to a woman not like she is the last woman on earth, but like she is the best and only woman on earth for him, forsaking all others. Who will hold her afterward, and in between, with respect and gentleness.
A man who will never make a woman walk behind him, will never force her to be strong for him, will never ask of her to say goodbye to her ambition to give birth to the fruits of his. Who is not defined by how strong he looks in comparison to the woman beside him. Who has long since defined his character by holding on to his dignity, sacrificing none of his integrity, in pursuing his dreams. Who will stand a woman on his shoulders if she cannot see the road ahead, who will have the courage to admit that she is better at one thing (most things) than he is, and not ever think less of himself.
A man who will see in the signs of age on a woman’s face and body, beauty and experience, and appreciate the added quality and depth time has given her. A child born and carried and raised and maybe even lost, moments of dancing in abandon in the rain, on the streets, in a crowded room, and alone, lovers –good and bad- had and abandoned, the memories of songs. A road chosen that not everyone traveled, a quiet sacrifice made, an excruciating pain survived. Laughs she had at her expense, a love for the simple and the mundane, and- depending on the circumstances- a feel for the complicated and the neutral and the patterned and the plain and riots of color and decidedly gray shades.
A man who does not define a woman by the designers she wears, or the places she goes to, or how she looks in a bathing suit, or the name of her family, or how she fits- or doesn’t- the standard so proudly provided by the marketing geniuses of the world.
In a man, the knowledge that strong, and generous, and kind, and caring, and smart are not qualities a woman should be privileged to have in a man, but qualities without which he would not even make the measure of what a real man is. That a woman who allows her doors to be opened and her chairs to be pulled out and her bags to be carried for her surrenders none of her strength, proclaims no dependence, acknowledges no inequality. That a woman who speaks her mind and does as it tells her has no balls but a brain she has chosen to use in the way it was intended.
In a man, the awareness that a woman can make it alone- no less happy or fulfilled- should she not find all that she wants in him, that she can always still look for those qualities in other men and not be confined to one option only, and, mostly,
In a man, the appreciation and gratitude that she has still chosen to place her hand in his and walk with him.
posted by peach at 2:10 AM
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