Single or coupled, we can feel alone at times. Ours is species of connectedness, not isolation. When we connect to one another, particularly to those we love, we feel vital and expanded. When we are in a state of disconnection, we long to find our way home. Last night, over a chicken breast, I was warned not to recycle old pieces of writing. But are they old to one who never read them, or to one who had, but forgot the content? Here is one such resurrected piece.
Not a single log burned in the fireplace that winter. It felt like sacrilege to sit there alone, rather than curled up in the arms of a beloved. She tried the usual schemes of romancing herself, but even they grew old. It was in those moments that she came to terms with the pain of a solitary existence. No matter what she offered herself as appeasement, all proved to be a thin replacement for the love and intimacy she longed to express and receive. Simply put, she wanted to fall in love again.
It’s not that she minded being alone, but sometimes, she reflected back on the times in her life when the heartbeat and breath of another were more precious than her own. And as a woman who collected rare perfumes from all over the globe, she knew this: there is nothing more intoxicating than the scent of the one you love.
The idea of love is at best a rough sketch, a pencil drawing on a ragged piece of paper. With each fold and tear, the image mutates. She had all but thrown away the image, yet an impress was still left upon her. It would have to catch her by surprise, of course, when override had gone off on holiday. It was tough work to come this far in love, to keep her heart open. She wanted to go the distance. Would it matter in the very least who she loved? Or was love sufficient in its own right? Could she, a butterfly at the dusk of its life, open her wings one last time and soar? She had hoped so, she had believed so, but now, she was not so sure. Override sticks close to home.
It was hard to shed a skin that no longer fit her. She was emerging but resisted becoming something unfamiliar. It is always this way, until a love affair is consummated with the Unfamiliar itself.
There is no other way to be known than to open wide from the depth of one’s being. It will eat away at us, until we muster up enough courage, beyond our pain and limitation, to trust, to open, to explore, and to love with the full extent of our souls. I know this. We all know this.
And yet, we wait…
