Continuously Passing Storms

The sun was hot, and the air was mild compared to the heaviness of the conversation that she just had with her girlfriend who lay beside her. Lifting her face from the damp towel below, she opened her eyes, squinting away the brightness of the sun as she looked over and took in her girlfriends face. It always seemed so serene that it was hard to guess what was going on within her.

Looking away, she closed her eyes once more, having memorized the slope of her lovers eyebrows, and the fullness of her lips as she had done a thousand times, perpetually mesmerized.

It wasn’t the first time that she had entered the realm of catalyst, the push for a significant other to re-examine their time and energy. But she hoped that this time wouldn’t be like the others, who were not ready for that shift, and thus, met their downfall under the waterfall of her belief. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.

 

Was it possible to get comfortable in discomfort? She had more or less adjusted to this state over the years. It was impossible she was unique, but it was more probable that others cherished the consistency of that space less than she.

She opened her eyes again, finding the freckles that had become so kindred to her over the last year, and tapped back into the present. There was another woman inhabiting their sacred space, an omnipresent potential for the both of them. The potential for her lover was that this woman would become whole, and give back the effort that she had poured into her over several years. The potential for her, was that her lover would find ease in this previous lovers arms and cycles of comfortable discord, and shift her commitment away from their current infatuation.

 

The Buddhists say that non-attachment is one of the highest forms of spiritual awakeness. The idea that anything can belong to us, or remain constant, is just an illusion, and much of our suffering is due to it. The truth was, that she hadn’t tapped into such a removed and detached space of examination with her lover since their first months of courtship. Was this progress or regression? She found it hard to tell, and thus decided that maybe it was both. The fact of the matter was that a paradox existed, and throwing feelings into it would only deepen the hole. Only curiosity, questions, and space could coax the truth from the situation.

She began to think about it deeper.. I believe that of the most passionate loves we find in life, one is the first person to declare us lovable and desirable. They give us the confidence to see ourselves as a being who is sexual and romantic, which separates us from the familiar roles of daughter, sister, and friend. The second great love is the one whom we try to return the gift too, and to whom we can never fully achieve this. They leave us thirsting. And they leave us longing for resolution.

 

She closed her eyes briefly, blocking out the glistening sand in her gaze. Then she pressed the lids of her eyes together in the effort of holding onto the analytical side of her; as though the pressure she used could push out any feelings that might dilute or conflict these valuable insights.

This other woman.. she was one of those great loves. And she wasn’t ready to go away, just as her lover wasn’t ready to give up the key that she held onto. That key might as well be a metaphor for their connection, the concept art of the longing that fueled them..that tether of intimacy that could be opened at aytime given the word.

The clouds rolled by, and her lover asked her what she wanted to do next? Was it time to get up and go find sustenance? Or did she want to stay a while longer?

Later, the same question of whether being uncomfortable could become the most comfortable default would come back up as she spread aloe over the sun burn that painted her back red.

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