Posts tagged ‘love’

Like Children

She remembered clearly that moment when he had at last surrendered to her.  So much motion without action, for so long.  She had thought herself to be beyond all that, a grown woman who knew how the world worked.  “Are you ready for this?”  she had asked, but it seemed silly.  Why wouldn’t he be?  They’d been playing at it for ages, the frustration building steadily.  And he was older, but still he stammered and rambled like a teenage boy.  She hadn’t seen a man so nervous in quite a while, and it was as amusing as it was endearing.  He would have kept going, had she not stopped him with a kiss.

Lovemaking with him had always been that way–soft, playful, passionate.  In those dear moments, she felt like he would never let go of her.  It didn’t make sense.  They shouldn’t have been more than friends, yet they really always had been.  Always there had been something more, and trying to be just friends had proved difficult.  Now the line was even more blurred, with nights spent snuggled together talking over tv, making out on the couch, waking up together and talking philosophy in the sun’s first light.  It was everything it should have been, and everything it needed to be.  It was more than just friends or an “arrangement”, but nothing too serious.  It was more than they needed it to be, but less than they wanted.  They danced about it like children, fumbling around in the dark and learning lessons that wouldn’t be appreciated until much later.

Now, it was finally over, and he was gone.  She knew this day would come, had dreaded it, and couldn’t even bring herself to really say goodbye.  She’d hugged him last like she would see him again next week, and wouldn’t allow any dangerous words to escape her lips.  He did the same.  A hug because it would be a while before he saw her again, and though they both knew that was more of an if than a when, they knew better than to speak it.  And though they’d never called it love, she still couldn’t hide the pain in her eyes, and he looked away–not with guilt, but respectfully.

Had it really been love?  She wouldn’t admit it to herself, and was afraid she was reading too much into it.  But she knew different.  They had always spoke a language unheard, the kind that lovers often used, and her guesses had never been wrong.  He was just as aware of it, and they had even been known to use such glances on purpose when words failed them.  So many confessions, apologies, flirtations, and shows of tenderness, all without words.

She thought back to his nervousness, his gentleness, how he spoke as if he would always be there, though their time had been measured from the very start.  What could it have been if not love?  The first night, she laid her head on his shoulder, and he brushed her hair from her face, kissed her gently.  The night they were both too tired for sex and just watched tv instead–but as she undressed for bed, he could not help but to scoop her up in his arms, unfasten her bra, take her breast into his mouth with a passionate kiss that made them both wish they weren’t so tired.  The morning she tried clumsily to turn him on, so he took over, speaking gently to her and holding her so completely.  And every single time they giggled together at a moment of clumsiness and sometimes for no reason at all.  It had just been so much fun, so comfortable and easy, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.  

She wanted to call it love, but she wouldn’t allow it. And maybe that’s why it collapsed.

Never Miss a Chance

“Never miss a chance to say I love you,” she said, but I have missed them all. I screamed it loud in my head, dripped it from every pore, hinted at every turn implied it with sacrifice  but still I could not bring myself to say the words. And it wasn’t good enough.

I tricked myself into believing that it would be good enough so long as you only knew, but it wasn’t. Oh yes, you knew, and you joined the games, leaving hints at every turn. But if it was ever enough, I wouldn’t be holding on to this regret.

I’m sure it’s too late now, but I need you to know, I really did love you. I trusted you with all of my being and that trust has never wavered. I wish the best for you,  and all the other happy cliches,  because the truth is I let you go not once but twice because all I ever wanted was for you to be happy and I knew you’d never truly be happy if you gave up your dreams for someone else, even me.

Please don’t feel bad about anything that did or didn’t happen between us, because I’ve never regretted a single second except the ones in which I hesitated to show you that I cared. And if I could do it all again, I know I’d muddle through every second of those mistakes just for a few hours at your side. Because the truth is, it’s always been you. This blog is my heart, and it’s all a testament to you.  The times that I wanted you, times you inspired me, times that fear and unfinished business with others kept me away from you.

But now it’s time to let it go. Because I loved you, but it wasn’t meant for us. And holding in now can only make it worse. So when we meet again in the next life, I hope it’s just as messy and beautiful. I hope you set fire to my soul and rip my soul to shreds. I want to know that I’m alive, and the colors were always brighter with you.

I wish safe journeys, Wanderer, until we meet again. Never lose faith and keep the fires burning.

Yours truly,
Web-Weaver

Climbing to New Heights

He gave me a young birch tree, about 8 feet tall.  We planted it in the ground next to the house.  That was some time ago.  I thought maybe it was time to check on it.  I saw that it had grown taller than the 2-story house which it was planted beside.  I’d been given some bees and thought the birch would make a good home for them.  I climbed a little more than half way up and settled them into the tree.  They flourished and began busily building their honeycomb.  I could see them in their flurry and the honey began to flow.  I climbed higher so I could watch them from a safe distance.  All the way to the top I climbed, and I felt some wet spots under my hands as I did.  Green spots budding from branches which had been cut once.  Fresh, green, and wet, a bit sticky with sap.  At the top, there were a few of the branches which had been cut when it was a small thing that had grown wider but not budded and still had flat spots from the cut.  I sat down to look around.  I could see the top of the black roof on the white house, a peaceful place.  I could see the leaves on the trees, and now that I’d climbed to the top, the bees were really flourishing. I had climbed all the way up, and at the top I found peace.  My labors were coming to fruition with ease.

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When I woke up, I thought about this dream, looked up its symbolism.  The tree with its connections to growth, love, home, protection.  The honeycomb with all the same.  Honey–self explanatory.  I even thought to myself how wonderful it was for the bees to be doing so well at creating their home so fast.  I wanted none of the honey for myself.  And then the connections of the birch to various love goddesses, Venus of course, but also Freya and Brighid, who are goddesses not just of love but of hearth and home.  I checked my card of the day on the tarot app for my phone–it was the High Priestess.  Yes ma’am, I’m listening.  On Friday and Sunday it pulled the Ace of Pentacles, these three cards being the only deviations from pulling cups cards for the past two weeks.  And for two weeks before, I pulled cups alternately with wands, mainly the Page of Wands, but I know who he is.  I know to whom the wands referred.

I guess I know where the cards are leading me, but not really to whom.  That is always hidden from me in the readings and the dreams.  But what is love if not a journey to which we know not the end?

Symbolism resources:
http://artthereikiway.com/2011/01/21/tree-wisdom-birch/

Invisible

Can you see the fire
In my eyes?
An undeniable pull…
I can barely disguise
What I feel
But you don’t realize
At all.

A Letter to the World

Attention, People of the World,

You are not half a person, you are merely imperfect.  You will never be perfect.  You are not broken, and you don’t need to be fixed.  You may be flawed, but so are the rest of us.  When you are willing and able to accept your own flaws, you will be able to accept flaws in others.  When you can love yourself, you will be loved by others.  If you feel you must search for your other half, look inside yourself.  That is the only place you will find it.  To find your whole self, you must confront the fear and darkness within yourself.  Some things you can change, but others you must learn to accept.  Know your darkness, and learn to love it.

Trepidation

There it goes again
This obsession
Time to break free
From this depression

But, it won’t
Let me go
Need… to find
The way home

But home
Is with you.
And I don’t
Even know you

But I want
To be near you
Just want
A bit of you

To hold on to
When times get dark
Listen now,
Play my heart

Beneath your
Eager fingers my
Heartstrings
Find their rhyme

Now everything
Makes sense, feels
Right and my
Soul reels

I know what
This means–
A change
of scene…

Love?  That can’t be.
I need
A little more.
(Someone I adore?)

Is it you
I’ve been searching for?
Is it true?
I need to know more.

Because, this love thing,
It’s not new to me.
Just need to know you.
Is your heart true,

Like I think you’ll be
Or, Is this
All just
Another dream?

A Rhyme without Reason

bittersweet longings,
jump into my arms
where are you darling?
I’m waiting for you.

I know you’ll be mine
but I know not when
The fortune teller
is a fickle friend

Just want to hold you
Long for your kiss
Sweet conversations
In the cool moonlight

Want you by my side
Calling to you,
Can you feel it?
I’m calling you.