From the Project-in-Progress

2 years ago  •  By  •  0 Comments

To you I am bound.

Inextricably.

No distance or crease of time thwarts our connection.

It is a constant. A persistent whisper.

Clamour may hush it. But when the silence returns, so do you.

To my mind. My heart.

How do I describe this thing properly?

How can I say where I sense the physical pull?

Before we are born, we dangle from a dependency. A writhing bloody cord that sustains us.

But once we dare the world, the cord withers. And we come loose. Our liberty assured.

I wonder, though.

Does some part of us always long to be possessed again of this assembly? To be so entwined with another as to literally bleed and breathe as one?

Many are these kinds of bonds, of course. Cast between child and parent, lovers, friends.

Each tasting of its own flavor. Yet all sharing that sense of persistence. An ever-presence. An itch, a subtle ache that will not go away. That is ever-seeking. Ever-straining to build a bridge of flesh and light. Like a vein rooting through the world in search of its heart.

No matter then if the other resides half a world a way, they are felt in the sharpest intimacy. Beside you. Inside you.

If I had to say where I feel the link, I would say it stems not from my heart. But from my gut. From the very core center of me.

It is here, in my middle, where I feel the tug. The lure of ripened tether. And where, in our parting, I suffer the most pain.

Once, I am ashamed to admit, I was half out of my head in agony. You were all I wanted. And all I could not have. Desperate for some relief, I tried to cleave us. Hoping to divest me, entirely, of you.

But I was in for a shock.

For the knives and hammers and opiates failed.

And the magnetism only bloomed.

Now I have twice the pain. First, that of your eternal absence and second, of my own, sad treachery.

I can only hope that one day, should you learn of this, you will forgive me.

And preserve our fated pairing.

You, who were born twice.

And me, who was born twice because of you.

 

Copyright © 2015 Kristen Wolf. All rights reserved.

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