Sometimes there comes a point in our lives where we see through into our very souls. I just saw inside mine. My soul is unfulfilled. Incomplete. Floating around, trying to find a mate to attach itself to. My soul is hurting. And so is the rest of me
If everything fell into place it still wouldn't be okay. If every moment flew away, and every heartache would soothe, it still wouldn't be okay. the only thing that will ever make it okay is for it to not have been real. For me to not have felt it. For you to never have made an appearance in my life. And since that's not happening, the rest is.
Have you ever held a handful of sand and felt that you have hold of something? The tighter you hold, the faster it slips away until you're left with a few grains in the palm of your hand, which, eventually, the wind sweeps away, and you're left, only, with the feeling of having held it, and nothing else?
Have you ever dreamed a dream so vivid that waking up seems unreal, that coming out of the dream becomes the hardest thing, that your heart revels into the glorious illusion, while your mind furiously looks for ways to keep your heart from breaking?
Have you ever looked at something and wondered what, and not why, would it feel like if that was yours, and then cringed away because having that thing would be nothing short of catastrophic in your already messed up life?
And, have you ever wished to not want to feel whatever it is that makes you wonder about all those things?
His eyes created a whirlwind around them, when they met hers. As though all else around them just moved away, like everything would go into fast forward, while the moment between them completely stopped and stood there, making them oblivious to all else.
She loved how he laughed, how his eyes would contract with humour on his face, loved his voice, that to her, was comfort itself. The familiarity of his presence was inexplicable, as though they'd known each other all their lives, like life simply didn't exist before they knew each other.
When he was with her his face would light up, just the slightest bit, his smile would reach his eyes involuntarily, and his heart would beat just a little bit differently, that he couldn't pin point it.
She was utterly wrong for him, a disaster waiting to happen, bad news, but he couldn't explain why he was attracted to her. It was uncanny.
Whatever she was, all he knew was that she wasn't worth the trouble.
And whatever he was, all she knew was that his being pierced her heart, that she shouldn't look at him and almost melt, that hearing his voice shouldn't give her the collywobbles, and being with him should not affect her like that, at all.
But it did, right down to the core. And so, all that she knew and all that she was, annihilated in that one glance too long.
Surely, I will die trying to hold myself together. Trying to make myself whole again. I have never wanted the end so much. I am hurting everywhere. My heart is breaking. My world is falling apart. But there's still so much time left. Why won't it... Why?
As endless agonies begin, mine started from the beginning.
The daily injections that itched for hours after they were emptied in my muscle, and the other ones that made it impossible for me to move my leg for two hours after.
Then the resignation. The physical pain from making my body ready for extraction. Then the extraction itself. More pain.
Then the transfer. And the horrible two week wait. Good news. 2 more weeks and the agony starts. No food is digested. No water intake. IVs all the time. The first bleeding. The loss of a possible shadow twin.
The spotting. The angst of not knowing. The hyperemises. The hospital. The stench. The nerve wrecking IV insertion. The bruises.
The mental and physical state of realisation that we were alone. The cry for help. Arrival of mom. Saviour. The less horrible 2 weeks.
The second bleeding. The leaving of mom. The eid. The agony. The pain. And yet relief.
The going home. The twelve days of bliss. Twelve days without IVs. The final bleeding. The pop. The possibility of loss. The bedriddenness. The helplessness.
The pain. The last heartbeat. More excruciating physical pain. The labour. The dead boy. The D & C. The end.
The beginning of pain. And the nothingness. And more nothingness. And then some more.