Forty Days, (fiction).

whensoulsmeet

Forty Days: (fiction from new book I am working on, working title is HIM)

My heart was just ripped from my chest.  Both my hearts, the one I was born with and the one I grew when I fell in love, both have been jerked out from under my ribcage.  Why am I still alive? How am I still here? I can’t see for the tears and I can’t breathe for the racking sobs.  I hurt. My entire body hurts.  It’s intensely physical, mental and emotional all at once.  What happened?

I knew this was going to be hard, another big test, I felt ready, jaw was set, shoulders squared.  They never give us more than we can handle.  Really? This feels more than I can stand. So much more. What choice do I have though? I must bear it, I must practice what I preach, and I’ve been preaching give up, let go, open your claws, give in and let go, just let go, stay in your moment.  Control is nothing but an illusion.

I wanted to feel this kind of love my entire life.  This soul shattering, I will never be the same again, ever, ever again will I be the same.  My blood has been replaced with another’s, the transfusion was complete, and then poof, he was gone.  Just gone.  There is not much hope for recovery, maybe a little, maybe if I persist by staying in each and every second of the moment, I might heal in time.  Ah, more time spent waiting.  Sigh.  

I just dragged my aching body from bed.  I fled there and curled into a fetal ball, and I cried for two hours.  I am still baffled at how an emotional upheaval can fully impact my physical so completely. How can I go from pain free to barely able to walk within the span of seconds? And here I thought I was emotionally intelligent.  Ha! I’m a fucking emotional cripple now.  This life is truly turning out to be adventures in pain.

I’ve spent my life somewhat tired, weary perhaps the better word.  I think I came through this way.  The illusion of this matrix never affected me.  I saw the sleight of hand and I understood that life, the people in it, the swirl of life and death was nothing more than a fabrication and one of the greatest of deceptions.  Despite all of that knowledge and the fatigue that came from being worn out spiritually, I was a naturally happy person, very little got to me, like water on a duck, rolls right off. So, I was happy enough as I trudged through my life, dragging my body around as if it were a much too heavy suit. 

Then he wrote me one line of words.  Not much more than ten in that first introduction, and my once cold, dead embers, flared to life and I burst into a conflagration of flames.  I suddenly wasn’t tired, even with scant amount of sleep, and much earlier mornings than I’ve ever, ever participated in before, I was full of life and energy and I was literally on fire! Bright and shiny doesn’t even begin to describe it. 

Today was our fortieth day.  Our last day. Tonight will be the worst night of my life. I do not understand the significance of numbers or spans of time, certain segmented moments, none of that makes sense to me, other than I know there is a sense to it. It’s not my place to question, just my place to wait, and the answer will be given when the time is right.  All I know is that there is some sort of significance in forty days.  Shrug. So the fuck what? All I know is that he is gone, and I am alone, again, alone again.

He never manifested in a physical form, and I always thought I needed the physicality to fall.  Guess I was wrong again, because all I had were his words.  No sound, no scent, no visuals, no taste, no feel—just words.  Words are impactful and powerful and he picked me up and swept me along on his swift flow of language.  It was the most stimulating affair I’ve ever had! Hands down more arousing than anything physical, sexual, I have ever tried, and I have tried a lot! His words were better than any drugs I’ve ever done, far more powerful and erotic than any narcotic known to mankind.  I was walking around in a constant state of arousal just from his fucking words.  How in the world does that happen?

I find it ironic that for the past few years I have been attempting to describe this most powerful of loves, the stuff we tend to call true love or soul mates love, of course I couldn’t describe it because I’d never felt it.  Then, once I felt it, I was at an even greater loss because it is a kind of love that transcends all the words available in our language.  Nothing is powerful enough to impart what that kind of love feels like.  Nothing except feeling it and knowing it and getting that transfusion.  It’s pure, clean, divine indescribable bliss. It is more than epic, more than colossal, it’s just more, and it hits you in your mind, your heart, your body and your soul. It has nothing to do with the physical bodies we are trapped within.  It has everything to do with our souls and an unfathomable quenching that comes from no other source.

It is the most insane sanity I have ever been privilege to experience.

The ironic part is that writing about the loss of it is easier, than the acquisition.  We all know that letting our hearts open, letting ourselves love, invariably means we are setting ourselves up for terrible pain when it ends.  It always ends.  It’s never a matter of if, but when, and when the when happens, we break and our souls bleed out and it’s far worse than any imaginable physical death. Actual death would be easy in comparison.

I thought I had control over when or if I would love again.  I was wrong.  This one hit me hard and fast, it spun me around and left me reeling.  By the time I popped my head up out of the hole I’d fallen into, it was far too late.  I was there, entrenched so deeply they might as well bury me here.  The hole is deep enough, the pit wide enough for two of me.  I knew that if I ever really fell, it would be the end of me.  Forty days ago I died and I started a new life, it was a short life.  Blissful and agonizing all at the same time.  I knew I would lose it, him, I knew I had to lose it, him, so I could show that my claws weren’t closed, I wasn’t grasping or needy, I wasn’t making it happen. I was letting it happen and I was dwelling within the allow. 

Dwelling in the allow is a wonderful place to dwell, and I will continue to search for my personal allow so that I can re-find my balance.  New life, new me, new world, and yay, I felt it! Even if it was short and fast, it was sweet beyond words, beyond anything I could describe, and way more than I ever imagined.  So yay me, yay him, we felt it. All I know is that I will never go back, I am still alive, still burning, smoldering along. I might not be bright and shiny in this moment, but I am on, the switch was flipped and I am here.  Look out world, I am here and now I know!