Good morning mistress

She would wake me with these words every morning. Sometimes she would be pressed against me tightly as she whispered them in my ear. Sometimes she would murmur them in to my mouth while I captured her lips in a kiss.

But every morning the words were the same. For every one I woke up beside her, shared my home and bed with her, was her dominant.

And every morning the effect of those few words was the same. No matter if we had argued the night before, or if I hadn’t gotten a good nights sleep, or if I was frazzled by the day ahead, or if the kids were up all night. Every time she spoke them it all slipped away briefly.

I was loved. I was safe. I was proud. She was safe. She was loved, she was proud. Those few words reminded me why it was all worth it. It was a mantra that helped me try to be my best for her.

Until they stopped.

Now I’m left wondering how to find comfort in those words again. When the day comes that someone new speaks them to me. And despite my fear of it happening, I also want it to. There is just sadness here now.

Because I’m a different shape. Even if I wanted to feel those things, I don’t know if I would know how to any more. Because all my pride and love and the titles of our dynamic and the bond I thought we shared, none of it was enough for her to stay. When I took comfort thinking it was.

I used to see the title as something someone who saw me as worthy would give me. That once they did it was showing me they were with me through the good and the bad. That as long as I was honest and humble and transparent they would be the same. That we would grow together.

But now from both sides of the slash I’ve seen how easily people walk from these titles. Be it daddy, or mistress. And even though it’s happened to me a few times, this one for whatever reason has left it’s Mark in a new kind of painful way.

I know time will help ease this pain. It’s not even from a spot of wanting her back. Just from the change in me she caused. How my optimism is gone. How it makes me sad a submissive who didn’t hurt me would have to see that side of me. How I wonder if it would come off as cruel of me not to just trust.

It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to be the girl before her who could look at someone kneel for me and be filled with love and pride. I want to be the girl who heard the word mistress directed at me and couldn’t help but smile like a kid in a candy store.

This is the loss I’m mourning. I hope one day I’ll find her again. I hope while I’m lost in this fall out my skepticism and disillusionment doesn’t push people away. I hope that my fear of being open to the beauty of a dynamic again that holds all that love and shared adoration, doesn’t break one before it can start.

All I know is that these days I feel the loss of the girl I used to be. I feel disappointed for letting myself get lost. I feel the hollow of a missing dynamic, and the frustration of knowing I couldn’t do nearly enough to receive it and cultivate it as I am now. So I just give it time. All I can do is hope I’ll find myself again.