Why isn’t love just two best friends turned lovers? Two souls dancing through the different stages of life. Loving every version of themselves.
Why isn’t love whispers under the blanket while a warm bonfire tickles the walls like a kaleidoscope full of colors? Why can’t be love a long, never ending sleepover, full of giggles, dreams of what a future of us two could be?
Why isn’t love losing your words at the sight of the other? Only wanting their warm embrace. A lovelier kiss on my forehead, telling me that you will never leave. A sneak peak on my lips while laying next to you in my sleep.
Why isn’t love something you desire and build step by step while holding each other's hands? Knowing we have the freedom to flee and the freedom to stay. Both choosing each other everyday.
Why isn’t love a choice for me anymore?
Why isn’t love for me?
Why did they have to die when I was too little to know what love is. Why with their last breath they had to engrave forever in my soul? Knowing that they wouldn’t be there to fulfill their promise to the child they had invited into their lives only to be gone less than a season later. Wanting to keep living despite the future of their promise. Wanting to keep their ripped heart palpitating in the never ending nightmares that strike me each and every night?
Why me?
In a world that when you are born a light as a feather tread goes beyond to anchor you to the one bestowed to you. Promised to walk the path of life along you. Why was I linked to someone beyond the dead?
While others could delight themselves in the following of their threads, secure that once their path had been walked a kind hand will hold theirs in a way that could flutter their hearts. I had to content with walking to a grave. Far into the caves, where even the spirits were drave by a force greater than them.
It is true that my way of naming love wasn’t one that the thread intended in the way to connect the souls. As they were to uphold you, be as a mentor, a friend or a lover. One thread for each love. One thread for each relationship you could ever hold dear until the end of your time.
Thus, if your soul wasn’t gifted with enough threads your opportunity to foster relationships would be hijabed. And your supply of energy may or may not be enough to foster and replenish the soul…
But who cares about the soul. When you are limited to one. Which would mean that someone could be deprived of knowing others ways of being loved. As the one way to be able to see and be heard was a thread connected to you and to them—The others on the other side of the connection.
In a world where being anchored gave you stability to your spirit—if not it could try to fester upon others vital energy. This ceased to be a matter of love—or my meaning of love nonetheless—. Instead it was a matter of survival and protection of your kin. Those who the destiny had untrusted them upon. Therefore, having your bonds shattered would mean that you were a treat, even if that was just…a superstition. Because…who would want someone who Destiny had even rejected? Not a mortal, not them.
But if you were able to secure those bonds. Follow their spark and see your beloved. You could opt to finally see the others who surrounded you. Transcend from the spirit realm to the more terrenal, and thus warm one. It could be painful—depending on which species you belonged to. Even with that, nobody could even think of refuting….unless…[that’s a story for another time…]. That transition would come with a seal, and engraving signaling to which caste you belonged to.
Once the signal had been engraved into the skin [and other places who I dare not speak of as I was much of a kid when it happened to me]— the symbol of the caste would appear as said before, with each part containing a piece of the ones who made it. Each one having a different smell, sensation and color signaling the relationship to the beloved [the mentor, the protector, the lover.., as many as Destiny had believed you needed and as many as your soul could handle]. As one could not choose to deviate from the role assigned to the other. And if they dared to do so, the thread would be broken and their heart would burst open for the rest to see the consequences of trying to change what was decided for them.
But if everything went according to the norm—Congratulations you are part of the world.
A world which I can no longer see.
A world that flashed before me for mere seconds. Like a star shining brightly, but that had been discovered in its last moments. And in the same way I found her, she walked away from me, plunging me back into the abyss from which we all came. Only this time, without the thread to lead me to a home for myself. In a world where the figures of my surrounded would retrieve to be shadows, dancing on its own, without a shape for me to recognize. Knowing that I would never see another human being.
Pitiful me—even if I could no longer touch another of my kin— the past could not forget me.
As the traditions mandated, of having to venture to that place to pay my respects to the “what if” knowing I was the only one of them to never have received the blessing of being able to live in that world they often talked about. Waiting for me to grow a little but stronger, a little bit quicker, a little bit…more..
They told me love would set me free.
Liar.
Love kept me in a box.
If you take a shot for every time I say: soul, love and destiny...How's the other side? I am curious!
