Life flows, as it always does. Days go by, months line up, nature changes in it’s seasons, days become longer; people come in and out of my life. It’s only natural, and I myself am a part of it all, sometimes as a casual observer. sometimes as an involved player.
Under all that, there is a silent thread, a thought I keep coming back to, or it keeps coming back to me. I don’t encourage it, and I don’t fight it either. I have learned to accept it for what it is – a silent, lingering force that was always there, but has only recently been activated again and it’s unfortunate beauty shown to me.
All the strings I pull are somehow connected to her. All the thoughts get diverted in her direction, as if she’s the gravity for my existence. Everyone I meet, it comes down to her name at the end, at least in the form of a silent whisper in my mind. Every time I search for an answer, she is somehow at the center of it, like a ghost I know to be real, somewhere I can’t reach her. When I think about the life I’d love to have, she is there, smiling at me, tough her eyes says say “no”. The attributes that I admire in other people are all hers, and no one else can quite come close. Everything I look for in people around me, she somehow has. Everything I’m looking for in a lover eventually ends with her face under my closed eyelids.
As everyone else, I am searching, moving forward with big, sure-of-myself steps. I have no choice, it is the way I am. But, since I met her, I do wonder about the absurdity of the search when I have already found what I am looking for. Why would I be shown that which I am not permitted to be a part of? Why need I be a constant-searcher, forever finding bits and pieces of her in other women, but never anything quite as complete and remarkable, if I have already found her? When will this feeling in my chest subside? It’s been so long, and I made my peace with the most definitive conclusion – I accepted and surrender to it… so why does her smile, or her sadness, still feel like my own? Why do I feel as if I have been deconstructed, demolished and then re-assembled at some point, but not quite into the same person I was before her? And no one but me seems to notice it.
Is it a little glitch the Universe will never be aware of; a small tear in the fabric that our Lives are woven from, almost indistinguishable from the Perfection and only made obvious to me, as I just happened to have the (miss)fortune to be at the center of it, this time around? Is it a cruel game Life is known to play sometimes? Is it just another miss-match of timing and place, a perpetual game of hide-and-seek we are playing for centuries now? Will I be allowed to touch, once? Will the twin flame burn as one, ever?
Or is it exactly how it was meant to be – a debt I must repay – to be allowed to see her for what she really is, and admire it profoundly, at the same time knowing I will only ever do so from a distance and with a heartache that no one will ever know about?
I don’t know, and I probably never will. What I do know is that there is a piece of me missing without at least a thought of her bursting through my veins, as if her very existence is the force that holds all the atoms that make me me together, and without it, I would either be just a graveyard of plasma, or someone else; someone who never felt this joy and heartache. I prefer this. I wouldn’t give up this heartache for anything this or other worlds hold. Her name is there, in between my thoughts, and under my pillow. It might just be an empty space, and invisible light and undetectable force, but it is all I have and I’m not giving it up easily. It might be silence, but it gives structure to my words. She might be a ghost, but she is my ghost and my haunted heart is her home forever.