| Meeting my maker. |
[25 Aug 2005|10:58pm] |
There are times when I am unwilling to let go of my pain, for fear there will be nothing left when it is gone. There times when anger is my only emotional bond to the world. There are times when I lose myself so hopelessly in a place that has no walls, no floor, no ceiling, nothing but a tense, oppressive force that keeps me suspended there. I am alone. Misery is, after all, the purest form of selfishness.
I looked into his eyes, as though I was breaking through a cocoon of introspection that had kept me trapped inside myself for weeks… months… I could not know how long. I looked at him as though I was seeing him for the first time. I looked at him and wondered if his eyes had always been so blue, so brilliant. Had they always glittered like moonlight on the waves? Had they always been so dangerous and utterly magnificent, like a thunderous sea in the midst of a storm? I wanted to drown in that sea, be thrown by that storm, and I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me as though it were truly possible.
I felt a dull ache in my chest at being with him, wanting to be nearer to him, and my kisses fell upon his cheeks, his lips, his lashes, before I could take control of myself. And when I could take control of myself, I refused. It was too perfect a moment. And though he barely spoke a word, his arms enfolded me with such strength that I had no fear that the love I gave was returned to me.
We remained there, interwoven, until the surf came up to meet us. His hair, in exquisite disarray, blew softly against my face as I whispered in his ear that I loved him. That I loved him more than he would ever know.
He was silent still, with tears in his eyes.
Moments later, we were entangled still, lying on the shore, moving together in the sand, once again at one with the splendour that surrounded us. There was a pulse that throbbed within us and around us, nature’s heartbeat, and we were part of it.
A part of me wanted to think of the nights that would follow… of the promises that might be finally fulfilled, of the sound of his voice lulling me to my rest, of those eyes casting their spell upon me over and over again. But another part of me knew that there was every danger that the candle that burned for us in that moment would soon ignite and spectacularly explode, bringing down our home once again.
And so I stopped looking and started feeling. The way his fingertips against my cheek as he kissed me… that was all that mattered, nothing else. There was something pure about it. Something true.
The bridge, when crossed, would be crossed together. And besides, we had not yet come to it.
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