Love 180

You came like a warrior and recovered me when I was at my worst,
in my worst, situated and trapped by rage-less apathy and abandon-ed.
Non-believer. I. It was my badge, my protection and saviour. To just
be, be alone, ride life with knowing that everything is mostly untrue.
Until you. You. Thrusting yourself into my world savagely, not engaging
the notion of No. The begging of No. Recriminations, explanations, who,
what and where? was I, too good to be true, but as true to be real. Real and true.
Alive, after all. And so you came and though afraid, Yes came. And Oh yes!
came. And Oh my God, yes! was there. A frail acceptance at first because
of fear of Yes. The promise of surety, of acceptance for self, for me, for we for us.
Could it be? Could you really exist? The thing of faerie tales and of sentimental
monograph. A trick, it is a trick. Isn't it? Wasn't it? Will it be? Maybe it isn't?
Soon-the raging rivers of sadness and hate converged changing into limpid
pools of love and security. Security? Accepted? Shot through with understanding?
Impossibilities changed to feasibility then on to absolutes. So pleasing, so strong.
Impenetrable. No one could pierce our unity, our bond, the acceptance for
what is, and how we are, and what I am and what you are. Us. No longer just
a you or an I but an us, a we. No one could conquer us, nor storm us nor take
anything away from us. A fortress was created of love, honour and protection.
Years passed, and no stone was chipped from that strong foundation.
No one or thing could pierce stability, felicity, respect, trust or affection. Nothing. Epic, the stuff of tales. Lore. Imagination.
Riding on waves of the greatest knowing strong and true, with you. Beautiful.

A single arrow of doubt. The sound so diminutive as to be unheard,
sluicing cleanly, unaware of its power. It struck our mortar, love.
The pressure so slight...yet cataclysmic. Could this be true?
Could it be right? Could it be happening at all? Could
Everything awash in darkness suddenly, from a blind side it rushed
like that sad river of before and began it's journey, the blackness
inking up our light. Breaking our spirit suddenly. Like sparrows
whose breasts are broken in the storm I fell, and you fell, we fell.
Tragedy. Tragic. Sadness. So sad, love, so sad. 180, love.
JadenguilOKelly JadenguilOKelly
36-40, F
Sep 20, 2012