“I want your love,” he told her.
She giggled as she reached into his pocket and pulled it out. “You already have it,” she cooed.
“Your devotion?” He questioned with a raised brow.
Happily she turned it over, piling her commitment atop it.
“Your hopes.” He said with extended hand, more demand than question.
She emptied them into his waiting hands until he had them all.
“Your fears?” He tested her.
Her hand trembled this time, but he took them and her into his arms.
Her doubts, her triumphs, her dreams, her obedience, her trust… she handed them all to him. She gave everything he asked. Sometimes it hurt, and often she cried, but she gave herself to him.
He smiled so proudly and so lovingly at her, and it was then that he saw from the corner of his eye that there was something left. Something grasped tightly in her hand.
He pried her fingers open gently to find what was hiding there, but he didn’t move to take them. There, in her palm, he found her insecurities.
“I want those too,” he said, extending his own hand.
Her voice shook, and her hand matched the tremble as she extended it. “You don’t want these,” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around them tightly once again.
“But how could you know? What if you don’t…” But before her words left her lips he reached out his hand and gestured, drawing her attention to the wall. There lay all the parts of her, not tucked away in a drawer, or hidden behind a door, but there, displayed proudly on his shelves. Everything she had ever given him, lovingly kept and treasured. He turned back and wordlessly extended his open hand once again.
Tears trickled down her cheeks as she emptied her hand into his, offering him this last piece of herself. But ‘self’ would never mean the same again, because now she knew. She knew what it was to give yourself to someone, and have them cherish every piece.
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