Life Itself

You asked me the other day, "When did you know that you wanted to marry me?". It was an innocent question, one among many others. You and I have always been able to seamlessly ask each other anything. In fact it was the simple act of conversation that brought us together. Before you, I always thought I would eventually get dulled by the same person. That over time, the magic would wear off and I would be left with regret. That the curiosity would wane. That I would run out off things to connect on. That cynicism would take over and I would give up. Then I met you. It was simple. You were the first person that showed me that conversations never get boring. That fights are okay. That communication breaks, but repairs. That a promise lasts longer than a lifetime. It was easy. You showed me how. 

I was only eight when that passport was collected from the locker, those bags were packed, and a painful separation was initiated. Even as a child, I could feel the intuitive ending as it drew near. I had known, without complete certainty, that the apparent stability in my life was slowly transiting into a monster I would have to live with for the next many years of my life. Children understand things in a way that adults never can. Children feel and perceive, without denying or analyzing. And in my case, the intuition was even stronger than most other kids. While other kids would often grow up in cheerful ignorance, I always sensed that unsettled remark, always understood the sideway glance, and always felt that double meaning. Do you ever forget the moment when things break? When families split? Does the feeling of incompleteness, of having a part of you missing, of a pain from a distant past, ever ease? Do separations ever end? Do you get over that need to have someone

For me, the only real way to get over something as significant as this, is to write about it. Write about it so much that it becomes almost like you are telling someone else’s tale, like you are blogging about something you watched as a by-stander.  What a week it was. What started off as a casual - I’ll go and charm her into giving me what I want - turned into the worst nightmare of my life. I stood and watched helplessly as I was told about a world that I barely knew existed, one that I definitely didn’t know the rules off. So I watched as the characters changed, the scripts got edited and re-edited, the director’s chair was swiftly occupied by a different character every few hours. And all along there was an underlying fear, suspicion and constant feeling of deception.  It is easy to rely on your intuition - you at least have a decision and either right or wrong, you deal with the consequences and move on. This was different. For the first time in my life the consequences

Which part of you do you identity most as yourself? When do you feel every fibre illuminate and glow? The blood in your every last vein, your breath raciest? What moment of perfect coincidences penetrates you irrevocably? When do you stop and stare at the immensity of you? How do you touch, and own, that irresistible perfection? Who are you in that very split second of recognition? Who are you as the last piece finally fits? Who are you when the haze lifts? Do you capture those fleeting chances? Do you etch that awareness? Do you lose a few seconds? Does it overwhelm you? Does it define you? Do you know?

You taught me simple things.. for instance, to run fearlessly. To charge at those bigger and stronger - always making the first move. To always be playful, to always be free. You showed me that love is truly unconditional. That being in love means protecting fiercely, bravely. That sometimes a little tummy rub and lick is all it takes. As you waited, sometimes endlessly, for me, you showed me how to make someone the centre of your universe, it was in loving me, that you showed us how love was to be done. In your loyalty, you become an inspiration, often told, by being ours, you made us more, you made us whole. You healed, our tiny hearts, as we grew up, together. You were the missing piece, the little radiance, the little sunshine, amongst all our gloom. You made the house our home. My strength, my friend, my hope, my joy, my roots, my journey, my childhood, my adventure, my listener, my licker, my furry friend.

There is calm in dependability There is comfort in intensity There is home in intimacy It's the in between in what is never said between us. It's in knowing that silence is understanding. Do you think about the same things? Do you wonder with the same immensity? When I am listening, While I giggle, While I chatter endlessly, Do you hear the slight pause? Do you notice the catch in my breath? Do you sense the moment when I am me? Are you simple, like your words, like your curious stories? Are you at ease, like the sea, like the chirping trees? Are you aware, of what it means, of what it conveys? Are you deliberate, in the impact, in the way you move me? There is closure in belonging There is security in co-existing There is peace in being.

I can tell you what it means, to have misery and joy all combined into one. Knowing that you will be robbed of everything. That every identifiable shred of your tumultuous identity will be stolen, and you will be left, formless. That you will own and tarnish the past and re-create every inch of it. You will lose everything, but what you will retain is the dull sense of ownership; of knowing that you painstakingly created this, from scratch, against opposition. And you will be left with an empty slate, to re-write. I remember it all. Like it was happening now, in front of me. Knowing what would make this perfect, and yet knowing it was impossible. Fighting everything, including myself to make it possible. And then giving it up. Knowing when it would self-destruct. Knowing when I was not right. Knowing when I was. But, also knowing that my brightness needed illumination. That an atmosphere that damned would not only be brutal on me, it would also be brutal on you. Knowing that our separ