The Wabi-Sabi Scar

We poured out our hearts in whispers.  You spoke, and I listened to your words, as we were sinking into the marshmallow bed.  Our faces were shadows only inches apart, and the room was quiet the way an adult’s bedroom is at night – all fan whirs and cotton sheet friction, and breathing.

Then I spoke and you listened.  Deeply.  Our perspectives were different, but our hearts in synchronization.

We talked about that time.  That scar.  The bad one.   And how it looked different from our respective views.  And then you said something like, our love has been tended carefully, like a bonsai tree.  Our love is like a wabi-sabi bowl, more beautiful for the broken part that was fixed.  And I imagined the crack that split us almost in half, now filled with gold.  Precious, strong, beautiful.  And I pondered that for a moment, ready to hold it a bit closer and replace my scar with a vein of gold.  Then you said that we, us, our love, is entwined … we are part of each other.  So tangled up and inseparable.  And I saw us, like a Klimt painting, gold swirls and stars, unable to tell where you end and I begin, as we float through the universe enveloped in a blanket of trust and love.  And as if on cue, you said that if you were to die and your spirit was floating around out there, that you would wait for me.   You would wait for my spirit to come find you when it was time and we would spend our time in the other-ether together.  Or something so close to that.  And I kept trying to repeat the last thing you said in my head so I wouldn’t forget it and could write it in our journal.  Then I chided myself for not just enjoying the moment and feeling compelled to record everything, which isn’t the same as engraving it on my heart.  So I just lay there, looking at the dark shape of your head and listened to your sweet protestations.  About Hindu re-incarnation and finding each other sooner next time.

I confessed to you – about then, the “bad” then … about something the scar left behind.  The thought that you chose me for this life … but the idea lingered that you saved your ether for her.  Maybe it’s selfish to want you throughout whatever transformations our souls will take (if any), but I can’t help myself, but I also couldn’t ask you for it.  And I cried, because you said it without even knowing I was living with that pain.  You reached out your fingers and touched that hurt with salve, easing the burn.  And I cried.  And you put your lips in my hair and told me how well we fit and how glad you are that we fought so hard for the us we are now.  And I melted into your embrace.

I told you about how I don’t like to write about deeply personal things in my blogs like I used to.  It feels so much more dangerous now than it once was.  And I wondered if writing about what has passed between us tonight was a mistake.  Or somehow cheapened it.  Or maybe it was a weird kind of bragging about recovering love from ashes.  But then I decided that I would write it all down because I wanted to remember it.  And I was also writing it for couples who are in a place that feels so dark and desperate they don’t think they will ever recover, because we did.

Tomorrow I am going to write some of the things you said into our couple’s journal.  I want to keep it close and remind myself that there is always light, even on a very dark night.

I’m super tired and can’t find the energy to look for an image to put with this or proofread it.  Goodnight ❤

2 comments

  1. Sweet sleepy words – the kind that write hearts into the world.
    If our spirits float around in the next place, I want mine close to yours, to tangle and twine together.
    If we come back to live a reincarnated existence, I hope I’m close to you again – very close – to keep working out this love of ours, on whatever level it needs to grow. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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