There isn't a word. It isn't simply describable. It's more like a whisper of essence. A hint of breath left lingering in the air, still and subtle. I never guessed what this would feel like, if I even had pondered what I know now. I had always felt life so intensely. Living on edge, half-off the seat, one toe inside my own coffin. Sneaking by with innocent eyes but there was chaos within. Showing sides of myself to separate people, no one truly knowing who I am inside. I shut off parts of me throughout tough times and became numb as a result. I have known what it is to be truly alive, exploding with delight, boiling over with passion, giving out my heart in handfuls. I've slipped into the depths of sorrow, drowned in my own snot and tears, dipped into deadly territory, barely escaping my own darkness.
All of that does not compare to this.
This is the utmost content. It is painful. It is terrible and wonderful. It is hard and slow. I long for touch. For love. For comfort. For time. I hear the wind whipping in response. Leaves dropping, shedding what is no longer needed. Creating space for him to return where he belongs.
I have been shown my path. A gesture to the door. I only had to open it. He didn't come with me. He didn't accept the invitation. His eyes just said, "go on ahead, without me." I'm followed in my dreams, where he is a figure and I can never quite tell if he is there or I just feel him. I look at the reflection of all of the things I ever have said, done, and felt. I can see that he is not there so I see where I needed to change. I see the things I can do to smooth out the edges of my soul. To forgive and be forgiven. He is on the other side, reflecting it back to me. Waiting for me as I wait for him.
Every step I have ever taken has been a mirror of his. The ebb and flow of our paths crossing and combining, at times, just to follow along closely but barely together. Magnetic forces creating space when it is necessary for change to occur and tenderness when it is time to be enjoyed. I hear him in my head, real low, a white noise of calmness, urging me to keep going. It will work out how it is supposed to.
All of that does not compare to this.
This is the utmost content. It is painful. It is terrible and wonderful. It is hard and slow. I long for touch. For love. For comfort. For time. I hear the wind whipping in response. Leaves dropping, shedding what is no longer needed. Creating space for him to return where he belongs.
I have been shown my path. A gesture to the door. I only had to open it. He didn't come with me. He didn't accept the invitation. His eyes just said, "go on ahead, without me." I'm followed in my dreams, where he is a figure and I can never quite tell if he is there or I just feel him. I look at the reflection of all of the things I ever have said, done, and felt. I can see that he is not there so I see where I needed to change. I see the things I can do to smooth out the edges of my soul. To forgive and be forgiven. He is on the other side, reflecting it back to me. Waiting for me as I wait for him.
Every step I have ever taken has been a mirror of his. The ebb and flow of our paths crossing and combining, at times, just to follow along closely but barely together. Magnetic forces creating space when it is necessary for change to occur and tenderness when it is time to be enjoyed. I hear him in my head, real low, a white noise of calmness, urging me to keep going. It will work out how it is supposed to.
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