May 14, 2015

This You Cannot Carry.

Helga Weber/Flickr

I am sorry if I seem to blame you, for my loneliness is not yours to carry.

When the sun offers its last breaths to the horizon, I crave the light of day and turn to you.

Your fire, however, burns like the stars, and you do not understand my yearning. The darkness animates you—renders you terribly liquid—while I spiral inward, seek sanctuary in the folds of my heart, and crumble into stardust until I can reawaken with the dawn.

In those hours, I find myself tremendously hungry for light.

I forget sometimes that I must first ignite in myself that which I would seek in you. And so it goes, my love, and I blame you, though it is not your fault.

You, however, forget that I deal in tiny miracles—and tiny tragedies. Just as a seashell is cause for wonder and a caress the source of vast delight, a word may be cause for tears and a moment the root of fleeting heartbreak.

Like a boa constrictor, the loneliness of an instant squeezes tighter the more I resist it. But when I surrender it scares you, doesn’t it?

You burn through ropes to escape them, while I dissolve into water.

When this happens, you feel powerless and so distant in your fiery fluidity. Indeed, when this happens, there is no thing you can do—save one.

You who are the source of so many tiny miracles—caresses soft as dusk; kisses sweet as sunrise; love as smooth as chocolate—you could undissolve my heart with your presence, if only you knew you could.

Love me.

It is that simple. Neither pity nor apologies nor guilt (it is not, after all, your fault) will assuage this transient aching.

Hold me when I dissolve for no reason; kiss the tip of my nose when I turn to stardust at sundown; love me when I cry.

There is no other thing you can do, but that is enough.


Relephant Read:

Crying & Grief: The Meditation That Works.


Author: Toby Israel

Editor: Emily Bartran 

Photo: Helga Weber/Flickr

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