This I believe.
I believe in Bessie. It is hard not to believe in her. She is good. Heather, as she is commonly known, is the kind of person that makes me be a better person: a true seraph at a time when purity is ostracized. I believe in all that she is, the mother to my children. She sacrifices all that is presently seen as important issues for women and gives of her for the betterment of others. She makes me better.
Bessie is a strange name you say, an ugly name with negative connotations. That it is. This strange name is not derived from any physical deformity or other iconic irregularity displayed on her countenance. This name comes from my weakness; my inability, to behave as others do. The disdain I feel when I look at the way that hypocrisy flaunts its ugly face as men use words as substitute for affection. The way the public oral adoration is used to puff one up making all others pay attention. “Look at me, I love my wife so much, I call her honey!”, while on the home front these terms of endearment are used flippantly and in convenient times to gloss over true acts of endearment. “Sweetie, can you get up and get me a sandwich? How repulsive. My affection for you is not as great as the inertia holding my ass to this Lazy Boy!
I believe in the comfort she brings to my life. The solace felt at the end of the day as we curl up under the covers. I feel peacefulness those few moments before slumber with her in my arms, the tranquility of her breast in my hand. There is no other feeling that compares to this in the entire world. When we are apart, this is the thing I miss the most.
In a world where the roles of womanhood are changing, the differences between man and woman should not be diminished. It is these differences, the things that make women so special, in which I believe. In Bessie, who exemplifies these differences, I believe.
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