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Departure. — I Love You, but…

 

{Photo: Tumblr.com}

{Photo: Tumblr.com}

I am so in love with your ways, your nuances, your rhythms… even your volcanic storms.

In all shades of you, I have seen shades of me. I watch and observe, absorb and relinquish. I allow you in and witness the parade of fireworks you set off across my solitary purple night sky soul.

You are a magnificent display of much and I am mesmerized by the colorful cast of characters that emerge from within you, even when they carry the unmistakable pall of your darker self.

Yes, I am in love with your self-deception too.

Your beauty, intensity, acumen and depth render you a prized jewel in the world-basket that carries mostly stones and scrap. You walk into a room and its energetic landscape is changed forever; you know this, and those who watch you know it intimately as well.

And yet, through the smokescreen, sometimes I catch a glimpse into the magnificent layers of your detailed beauty, the sparkling presence and inked distraction.

Copious hours of traveling, working, restlessness and sheer exhaustion brought out the jagged marble that was still meshed inside the sculpture, rendering it deformed… but only in a certain light.

Fatigue unhinged all the cloaks tightly pegged on your kingly shoulders and I saw clearly the magnificent ego parade with all its fiery plumes. A fire that will consume every cinder of emotion to keep its self-annihilation going.

Your beautiful, tattered, masterpiece of a soul, moth-eaten and inflicted by childhood pain. Your unceasing self-loathing. Oh, but dear lover, it made me love you even more. Every inch of you was truly naked and a slave to perceived infirmities.

As your inner self came spinning out of the absolute nothingness of your entire universe, I saw clearly through the magic of your words.

The web of mantra you cast around me; how easily I settled into your saccharine words, resting my heavy head against your endless tales of kingdoms found and battles lost, those magic soliloquies… they spun me to heights unimagined.

You always said you loved the God inside me, and sought it like the bee that knows the nectar it must draw to make life sweeter. I felt drained from our love and excited too.

You — my addiction, so close to going horribly wrong unless timely intervention aborts its insidious spillage into my veins already colored in all your dyes.

I still love you.

But in that sweet forlorn way that hails the departure of a once-congruent castle of emotions now fragmented… like clouds across a sky blown clear with the breath of conviction.

I truly see you. I see how the lack of light inside you makes me want to open the temple doors of my heart and flood you with mine. I love how the light of my soul bounces off your face.

You opened doors inside me that deepened my own alchemy, for that and for our tender journey together, I will always be blessed.

Your frail side was one of the weakest I have ever witnessed. Pumped on book quotations and spiritual texts you have picked up along the way, they did inform you much and honed your path. But the lessons couldn’t fully tailor the din in your mind to a winding halt.

You never allowed the lessons to go deep. Fear of losing what you knew, ways of being that had failed you repeatedly, and yet you trusted them like an old faithful friend who was always prompt to deliver pain and a caustic remark, even though all you silently begged for was love.

But pain becomes a way of life, and we stop thinking of ourselves as worthy of receiving the luxury of love. Pain becomes the edifice — the protective shield between us and the world.

I quietly walk away from the edge of your world, wrapping this luxurious love around my cold, bare shoulders. I have come to see you have little use for it… why linger when what I have to give is too much for you to receive?

I love you, but I must disengage from this same love you filled my heart with.

Your heart talk is ripe and plump… and all too perfect, tidied up by an expert seamstress. Mine, you see, is a field of daffodils, wrecked by a passionate wind. Tender and wild. How shall the twain meet?

 

*****

{Farewell}

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Rebelle Society
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