You are my wilderness.

So often you have rescued me as I’ve plunged into the depths of despair.

Circling me with that specific tenderness in your eyes, you determine to envelop me and my tears.

I have never become accustomed to your powerful empathy for my sadness. I think it’s because I’m not quite sure that I’m deserving of such naked, blatant love.

You are the wilderness that I run to. You are the safe place in the woods—the dark, moist, cave where I lay myself down and weep, until I can weep no more.

In the instant that I fall apart, you are there to offer the strength of your arms and the wisdom of your words. I can clearly see that my tears undo you, and that you would kill to have me whole again. Yet all that you reveal to me is your determination to make things right—to help me find the balance I have lost.

In the wilderness of each other’s love, we walk with our black stallion faithfully leading the way—his breath misty in the early morning light—further, further, to a place that no-one else has discovered. A shadowy landscape of tall trees and ivy and ferns—where we fall into each other on a bed of ancient moss, and erase the world from our ears and our hearts.

I find respite in the kisses of your exquisite mouth. I find truth in the way you strip me bare. I find solace in the way your hands own my skin.

You’ve always known that I need to be taken roughly when I’m suffering.

You’ve never questioned it, just silently and with a hungry look, have taken what I have. In my most vulnerable, emotional state, you are the author of my ecstasy. I am grateful for your ability to f*ck with such intensity, while I’m fragile in your hands.

Your body on mine transmutes the frigid essence of my fears into fiery, molten lava. It covers me whole and I rise—the phoenix, a song on my lips.

In the wilderness of your love, all that is fallen to the forest floor sprouts into new life, effervescent spring green—vines spreading with lighting speed across the valley of my confusion. My face cradled to your chest, my body suspended in your embrace, I listen to the beating of your heart and mine picks up its rhythm once more.

I’m not hardy, I fall to pieces all the time. I bruise like a peach or freshly picked daisies in a toddler’s hands. That you do not see this as a weakness of my character is a testament to the strength of yours.

Without the steady sound of your life-force in my ear, without the sure step of your feet as you carry me to our bed, without the comforting murmurs of your voice against my neck, I would fall into a self-made abyss.

And yet, I am your teacher, you say. And yet, I have not fallen off the pedestal you often keep me on. And yet, you love to search my soul for knowledge that you think only I possess.

“Turn to me,” you say, when I lie curled up against the storm.

In the wilderness of your love, there is no hiding what I feel. You unwrap me deftly, expose all my wounds, wash away the dirt and gently apply a healing balm. You build a fire to keep me warm, you make a brew of secret herbs. Upon the rough cloth of your warrior’s cloak, you let me sleep—but haunt my dreams.

In the wilderness of your love, I can be as wild-haired as I please, I can speak a language only spirits understand. I can leave a trail of dragons behind my flowing robes. All is accepted, all is divine.

I am who I am. And to you that is more than enough. In the wilderness of your love, I need not conform to the world.

Take me, then, into your smoky cabin. Keep me there while centuries pass. Feed me from the hedgerows and the bounty of the woods. Pick bouquets and lay them at my feet. I need nothing else but to see you dismounting your horse as the day wanes and the moon picks up its silvery nighttime task.

You conquered me while I was strong and able to resist. You have stood by me while I poured proverbial blood from my wrists. You have been the Tristan to my Isolde. You have believed in me when I was sure that I had no worth.

In the wilderness of our love, I bow to you and you bow to me. We are equals, best friends, lovers of passion—dreamers of impossible things.

In the wilderness of our love, I have found the path that I’m meant to be on. And when I long to stray, you stand with sword in hand, pointing down the crooked, difficult lane…

“This way, my love,”  your voice ever so clear.

In the wilderness of my love for you, there is an eternity of gratitude for the way you’ve been my soul friend.

 

Relephant:

Choose a Man who will Serve your Soul. 

 

Author: Monika Carless

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Pixabay; Flickr/Bernhard Latzko