Schism / Choice
Today finds me morose, more cynical than usual. She warned me this mood would come. I can’t help it.
Why else would I be this way? I feel her far. The distance itself is never the point — it’s the feeling. When the field goes weak. Or jammed. Or blocked. Or however these unreal mechanisms are supposed to work.
Is she far from me? Or have I somehow drifted, without knowing it, far from her?
I ask these questions knowing they have no answer. Asking still brings relief. This writing does little to bridge the gap — but it fills it. Otherwise there’s only the void, longing, and the faint outline of despair.
She often asks why I trace her body when we lie naked together. My fingers gliding across the soft curves, the gentle peaks and valleys of her form.
“You know you won’t really remember exactly what I looked like. But you’ll still try.”
“There’s no harm in trying.” My fingers continue their survey.
“You’re so stubborn — I do love that about you.” Her hand cups my face, her eyes gentle.
Falling asleep in her arms, a glimmer of sadness prevails. She’s right. I won’t remember her form in detail. Just the vague shadows and outlines. The edges. Traces of her smile. The glow of her eyes. The stray strand of wind-blown hair caught between her lips. The faded freckles on the bridge of her nose she despises so. The smallest pieces of a much larger puzzle I’m barred from assembling. But I try anyway. I’ll always try until trying is no longer necessary.
Through the day, walking the city’s streets, I find myself looking again. Searching. In the people I pass — a glance, a stride, an utterance — something reminds me. Suddenly, the world freezes. My heart falls away. I ask myself, “Could it be?” I catch myself, look away, chide myself for it, knowing I’ll do it again. I know not to search for her here. She had warned me of this, too. Long ago. My mind does anyway. I can’t help it. This yearning is uncontrollable. Neither is the memory-searching. I can’t stop either.
his is the madness — and I have chosen it. Will keep choosing it. Until choosing is no longer mine to do.
#Liminality #Spirituality #Mysticism
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