It’s no surprise the French have 17 words for surrender. Hopeless, existential romantics either say nothing or too much.

May my silence echo in your mouth where my name used to be. Or at least, that’s what I imagine hopelessly existential romantic French people say when they’re dreapeau blanc-ing on someone they might’ve loved once.

Dreapeau-blancing means white flagging.

When I told you two years ago, I surrender all, I knew it was a risk but I meant it because I saw no other way to effort my prayers into existence. I don’t grovel and I hate fighting. Sometimes I wish I was more fight and less freeze but that’s a different story.

At first I thought about coming here to tell you 17 different ways of just how serious I was, am, is about letting go and letting you, but that would be too many words.

Charlie’s teaching me about secure attachment. It’s something we’ve both really had to work at. Our love story began with kidnapping, blood, tears, exhaustion, anxiety, heartbreak, biting, frustration, barking, howling, and so much shit; like wading in actual puddles.

I once foolishly thought that getting a puppy would be all cuddles, kisses and calming kindness. HA! I told a friend it was more akin to dv…at least in the beginning. Is that every great love story? Does it always have to hurt first?

Now he follows me around the house all day and gets offended when I dare to close the bathroom door. Even after a year of spending every night and nearly every day all day together, he still goes bananas when he sees me; as if my workout in the garage was an agonizing eternity without me. Imagine being loved like that? If I’m being honest, it’s mildly awful. Love me just a little less; somewhere between the golden pony and the ghosting other puppy’s do.

Puppy: furry beast with mommy/daddy/commitment issues (aka trauma) who will likely never go to therapy but is oh so charming, cuddly and cute.

All that to say, secure attachment seems entirely unnecessary, unless you’re a tree. But considering they eventually die, we all die, I’m starting to question our collective need for roots.

What I’m saying is, it’s pointless. There’s no point in playing the energetic chess game of try to guess the mood of the universe so you can raise your vibe and win the next cool prize from your vision board that will someday be cremated along with you and your puppy.

Surrender, in all 17 of its permutations, is absolute freedom.

So, like I said two many years ago, it’s all yours. I’ve always been all yours. ~