Lying in bed….alone, imagining he was still there, she sighs listlessly fighting to restrain the next steady stream of tears. Reminiscing when he was near and how her wellspring would tremor while pressed warmly against him.
How he’d breathe softly into her ear, drawing his warm breath down along her neck and collar-bone until she giggled and squirmed—her vibrant smile always making him glow. Witnessing in his eyes, the immense love she knew he felt for her—blushing, yet not ashamed to reveal his subtle ways of caring.
Her peach colored hair suddenly rises up on-end as though his delicate hands were gliding up her arms, along her shoulders, then drawing lines down her back—making her shiver. Pulling the covers tightly around her, she can almost feel herself leaning into him, resting securely against his limber chest—his arm wrapped securely around her; her protector.
This sudden loss of comfort has vanished and she winces at the newfound reality of his absence. A sudden outpouring of salty rain dances down her cheeks and floods her pillow case with sorrow.
Butterflies torment his belly as he imagines where she might be right now—his solemn mood and facial complexion, a cold winter’s lunar scape. His appetite withdrawn and mind fleeing from the gravity of her absence, he wishes regrettably that she were tucked safely in his arms and yet there he is, alone. Exhausted and confused, he feebly attempts to deny the inevitable truth wondering, “Why?” while fearfully rebelling from his maddening loneliness.
He lies there, vulnerable and confused—missing the absence of her warm body, fragrant smell, silky skin and her cobalt eyes staring up into his—all but a vanishing memory. For a moment, he can feel their hands clasped tightly and hear her soft belly breathing as she dozes off to sleep….as though she were still there.
Trembling, he finally caves to the weight of his newfound reality as it surfaces upon his blush cheeks—the next wave of emotionally charged tears spilling forth onto his damp pillow case.
The aching pain of separation terrifies her. No man has ever spun her world into a web of uncharted pathways, newborn experiences and deliberate heartache. The screaming matches, the intense love making sessions that ultimately followed and always, the hysterical laughter that made them both cry—gone. He’s gone.
He was sure that she was the one until the very moment she wasn’t—the moment she was gone; the moment she stormed out of his life for good. The night of their last embroiled lover’s quarrel, except this time there was no making up, no more excuses or fragile promises and the harsh words that were said, now tattooed to each of their pain-stricken hearts—etched in their tainted memories.
Like an ice hammer shattering their frozen hearts, vengeful words and spiteful tongues lashed out at one another until the only passion remaining between them was contempt. Irreparable consequences flung far and wide—making it virtually impossible to imagine ever being able to love so devotionally ever again. So much of their lives spent as part of the other’s, their identities indefinitely fractured.
She had taught him how to love a woman in ways he never could have dreamed otherwise—coaxing him beyond his ego and into the majesty of sexual divination. Supporting his habits, both good and bad unfailingly despite his blindness to recognize how truly supportive she was. Taking for granted all of the little things she did, simply because she thought of him—because she was in love with him; too busy being selfish to recognize that she was out of his league.
Several years have passed since these two lover’s story was written. The destructive nature of this relationship’s downfall remained a mystery for so long—a source of anger or spite. Malice towards her behavior and resentment towards his made it nearly impossible to offer any kind of genuine love and commitment to someone new.
Swallowing his pride, he began to transform his life in whatever ways he could fathom so an experience like this may never cripple his sensibilities again—or another woman’s. Self-help and alternative healing practices began to trickle into his life experience. Sorting through everything that had gone wrong—warranting the necessary introspection to trace the source of innumerable troubles he’d caused.
“I was the cause….I caused this. I have no one to blame but myself.”
No doubt this experience was necessary for both parties to grow mentally, emotionally and spiritually. The hardships these two faced and endured for the sake of love, devotion and subconscious learning has influenced this man to change in ways he’d not believed were possible before.
The scars are still visible and at times, the phantom pain of that reality still surfaces. He weeps when he realizes that he had caused her such turmoil, floods of tears and undue suffering. His empathy may only be present today, had she not torn his walls down so long ago. Prodding his vulnerability with a thorny mask of deception and betrayal—a mere reflection of the same he’d committed towards her.
Taking for granted that she’d remain despite his disdain to improve his character and fulfill his individual purpose—instead choosing to live for her.
Had they not separated ways, their souls could not have grown into the beautiful people they’ve become, despite the incredibly infrequent correspondence that exists between them today. Risks would have gone to the wayside, sacrifice would have been unfounded and the necessity to grow surely would have stifled any chance at redeeming who they were meant to become.
What this woman did was teach this man to become just that—the embodiment of his own divine masculinity. Working towards sobriety and liberating him from the reigns of a victim mentality and self-pity. Waking early and working hard for whatever it is that makes his heart tick as a testament to his own satisfactions.
Overcoming his need for sex or to be with someone and instead embracing his bachelorhood, this man has since made immense strides. He has learned to believe in himself, take risks both great and small and cherish the art of platonic love.
He’s learned to trust his intuition, which she helped him recognize and to forget the idea of settling for less than great, understanding that if he truly wishes to meet a fine woman that he must become a good man—a conscious man. Commitment to himself and respecting his needs first has steered him away from toxic relationships and instead contributed to establishing wonderful friendships with amazing women.
This young man has learned to forgive himself for the error in his ways—the behavioral patterns he never could have known existed had she not helped influence their rise. Shadow work that was meant to be conceived in the light of day is no longer his prison sentence but his revelation.
He loves her, not for influencing the man he’s become, but because of the woman who she is. He loves himself, not because he has overcome so much but because he understands and accepts his flaws and has learned to be okay with imperfection.