I just made love to myself with the memory of you making love to me.
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
Koi No Yokan
A Japanese word that is untranslatable by the English language. But it so eloquently illustrates my connection with you.
It’s not love at first sight. It’s not the crazy whirlwind of seeing, meeting, and falling in love with a wild and reckless abandon. Love at first sight happens so intensely and so fast that often times, you are left dizzy, bewildered, and nauseated by the time it loses momentum. It stops and ends just as suddenly as it began.
This is different. It is gentle, it floats lightly, it’s this soft wave of an inclination that washes over you, speaking to you that this person may possibly change the course of your life.
The first time we actually spoke, I noticed the words you chose and how you put them together, and in something so subtle-- I sensed that you were going to be significant in my life.
How is it that when we spoke about our lives, I felt the nostalgia of ours together?
How is it that without even having touched you, I could feel the grounding weight of your hands on my hips?
How is it that without even kissing you, I knew I would melt when we did?
How is it that without having sex, I already felt our sensuous tantric pleasure?
Sometimes we just know, we have a sense, a premonition of love.
You stand across from me, with a cigarette in your mouth. I wish you would quit smoking. You look at me the way you do, arrogantly, when you know I am watching you. You take your last few drags and without blinking an eye, carelessly flick your bad habit onto the ground between us. The fire starts to spread slowly before picking up speed, spreading fast and quick, swiftly destroying all we will have ever known.
All of our sentimental belongings become food for this gluttonous fire; our photos from the romantic trips we took hanging on our walls curl up before dissolving into nothing but a memory. The bed we once shared, laid our heads to rest, dreamt on, fucked in, and watched endless movies from--engulfs into a sea of flames. The walls around us, containing our sacred space-- our home, collapses around us and we are enveloped in a ring of fire. We both watch powerless, as the unforgiving fire destroys everything that is precious to us. It’s too late and I cannot save you, so I stay. I hate you for having put us in this danger and I love you too much to leave you here alone. The heat and the flames are like no agonizing pain we have ever felt, it gets harder and harder to breathe, our screams fall on deaf ears, and we burn.
As the fire finally dies down and the smoke settles, we are left with the incinerated rubble and remain in silence as the flames gracefully fade from the remaining cinders. Your blue eyes stare back softly at me exhausted, filthy, burnt, scarred-- and yet, you are still so beautiful. I reach my hand to wipe the ashes off your cheek as your apologetic tears stream down your face.
No one could have survived this, but WE did. We made it. We are still here. We let the fire consume us. We don’t even know if we are still alive, we might be dead, but it doesn’t matter because we died for our love. In some other alternate reality, in some parallel universe, somewhere in the matrix of possibilities-- we survived a hellish fire and we are still together. Together forever, just like we promised.
You grab me and hold me close against your frail body. I bury my face in your chest, I close my eyes, I breathe you in, and I cry tears of relief knowing that no matter what happens or how much it hurts—our love is immortal.
There’s a wonderul and exciting feeling that a little girl experiences when she gets a shiny balloon tethered to a string and put into the palm of her hand. She is held in a bit of awe and wonder at just how beautifully and magically this balloon floats and follows her wherever she goes. How does it do that? The girl questions her own gravity and dreams of this balloon carrying them high into the sky, into the clouds, and forever floating together and experiencing the world.
The little girl eventually learns that if you leave the balloon without a hold on it—it will stray. This frustrates her because she would like to be able to go and play and come back to this balloon without worry. Not only does she discover that the balloon needs to constantly be re-filled but she also discovers that when that string leaves her hand and the balloon floats away, that getting it back isn’t so easy. It can feel overwhelming and tiresome to constantly have to watch over this balloon because the girl can’t trust that without her firm grasp that it won’t float away.
Eventually, of course, as the story goes, the little girl loses her grip on the string and the balloon floats away. She chases the balloon and desperately tries to reach and grasp for it and sadly it is just beyond her reach. She feels like it's a cruel joke because even though she can see it, she cant stop it from leaving her. She watches the distance between her and her beloved balloon grow and grow until it dissapears into the horizon. The little girl watches it float away forever…heartbroken and feeling abandoned… forgetting that what goes up, must always come down.
The moral of the story? Perhaps balloons aren’t the best to play with if you want something with longevity. The balloon won’t float with her forever, it will either deflate or it will fly away. It's not sustainable. There are other ways to play that don’t require so much air or holding on. Some things can stay; some things share the same gravity as her and can last with her for a very very long time. The little girl learned that you can enjoy a balloon but you have to keep in mind that it is just for a little while.
It is naive to think you know someone so well.
To think that whatever time you have shared in knowing their
habits, their history, their stories, their weaknesses, their
strengths, their wounds, and deepest corners of their heart could
ever sum them up-- is unjust.
It is a shame to be unaware of the subtle shifts and changes that happen
every day, every moment, right before your eyes. The little
crinkles around her eyes that get ever-so-slightly deeper and
wiser. The silver linings of her hair. The wonders of time and how
they show their presence in such beautiful ways.
You may think that a flower is simply a flower. A flower that
looks and smells just as simply as it always has. Or that the ocean
is simply salt water and blue.
The flower is always moving, changing, blossoming, and giving life
to the birds and the bees. The ocean's tides rise and fall with the
phases of the moon. The currents change direction. And depending
on how the sun hits the water, the colors and shades of blue are
in fact, infinite.
Everything around you and everyone is always changing. Take time
to smell the roses. Take time to watch the tide. Take time to see
your love with new eyes. It would be a shame to miss it.