...To Write is to Write is to Write...

I knew I was going to die, this being not a metaphorical death, but a literal death.  I knew I was going to die I felt in my soul, in my bones.  There was not even an ounce of doubt in my mind that I wasn’t going to be murdered at that instant. 

Luckily, I didn’t die but there was a death that day, the death of our marriage and yet it was also the day of renewal.  It was the day of my resurrection from captivity.

So it’s interesting how the day I felt I was going to die was in reality the day of my rebirth.

We downplayed our feelings and acted as if there was nothing between us.  We acted like strangers and yet it felt so unbelievably natural to be with him, like we were always meant to find each other, that our decisions, good and bad, had led us here to this moment, for this very reason.

It felt…right to be with him and this truth bleed into every aspect of my being.  The more time we spent together the more he gained my trust, and trust was something I always had a hard time giving away, but he was different.  Perhaps that’s because of how different the love I felt for him was over any other man before him.  I admired his kindness that he showed to those around him, I admired his steadfastness of character, his soft and gentle manners, and through all of these things...I realized that I also respected him.

The love I felt for him was different because it ran deeper than the artificial view of love.  He was handsome, yes.  I was attracted to him, yes. But these things did not define if I loved him or not, the qualities he portrayed and that were a part of him breath and soul, were the things that aroused my curiosity and decided if I could ever love him or not.  I wanted so much to be with him because of who he was, I wanted to experience life beside him, I wanted to be his companion, his best friend, to share in all of his joy and pain, I wanted to be there to comfort him, to encourage him, and to love him.

The oceans soft waves rippled along the white shore.  The man in the elegant black suit walked barefoot toward the gentle foam-tipped water.  He reached down and picked up the edge of the ocean’s frothy lace like a sheet of cloth.  The graceful man spoke nothing but what mere body language could decipher.  She didn’t hesitate, but followed his silent request and walked forward under the sheet of water.  The man walked behind her and in doing so, let the sheet close behind them.  The thick heavy press of water rushed in on all sides.  Her breath caught in her throat, and she could not even let out an exclamation of surprise before she was engulfed in the suppressed chill.  She was trapped, floating far below the dark jeweled surface of the water.  The man was already in front of her, his eyes bright, and a smile already formed in the corners of his shapely lips.  He kissed her and drew forth the last breath from her throat.   The bubbles beaded out of her mouth in pops as he pulled away from her moistened lips. 

Bubbles rose from the dark depths below, and very much like champagne, they tickled her exposed skin and shot speedily toward the surface.  The man unraveled his arm calmly from her waist as the fizz of bubbles overtook him and was gone.  The bubbles began to thin and the water appeared to be going with it, stretching violently like an elastic band to the point of breaking.  Then all was gone, and all that was left was an inky darkness.  Her body tugged at the navel and she was falling toward nothing, and past nothing that she could tell. 

She had been falling so long, that when the sensation stopped she had her eyes closed.  She now opened them and gasped.  Twinkling yellow stars, and a swirling nebula in shades of pink, blue, and turquoise with planets large and small intermingled between the clouds of color had illuminated the darkness.  He was there again, a mute, never uttering a word in his sharp suit.  He reached out his hand and she grasped it.  He took her and wrapped her in his coat jacket that seemed to expand easily to comply with her size. 

She woke up in her bed and found that her sheets had twisted around herself like a cocoon, like a straightjacket.

The day was brighter, and not because of the quick withdrawal of winter.  How she had forgotten what it was like to feel an attachment that was more than a mere friendship.  The uncertainty of what was to blossom was an exciting and intoxicating drug.  For too long she had denied – had shut off – any part of herself that demanded more feelings on her part, other than friendship.  But was the newly reawakened part of herself only temporary? Or would all hope of being with him be suddenly shattered? Would she be reprimanded for her moment of vulnerability?  Her higher and wiser self would laugh and say, “See. I told you it would end like this.  Never open yourself up to love again.” And she, the girl, would agree and close herself up once more.