It's fair to say we've neither of us made it easy on the other a fair amount of the time but I'd not have it any other way. There is no other soul on this or any other planet that can be who she is to me, can occupy the space-time that she does, the sub-net of neural pathways that specify not a perfect match but an actual part of myself that must be found outside the self and which she embodies. When I say "I" I mean "we".
I had a dream a few years ago that I was young again, and deeply in love with a beautiful young lady.
And when I woke up and realized it had been only a dream I felt a profound sense of loss; it had felt so real. I felt the tiniest inkling of bereavement. And I was depressed for days afterward.
When I finally came out of my funk I found that details of the dream had faded and were lost. And amongst the fragments I had lost was the face of the young lady. I felt that I knew her from somewhere in real life; an actress, perhaps a childhood crush - I couldn't remember.
Time passed and the memory haunted me less until finally I forgot about it altogether.
Late last year Mari started scanning old photos given to her by all parts of her extended family. And 3 weeks ago she showed me a picture that shot like lightning to my heart and squeezed. I was almost driven to the floor with the power of it. But for the photograph I knew to be the cause I would have thought I must be having a heart attack.
She had found the young lady.
In an old photograph in an old photo album that had lain forgotten in the bottom of a packing box in our shed.
It was Mari.
I knew it was so immediately.
The only image I had left of the dream was a vision of the young lady smiling at me with love; a vaguely familiar room in the background. The room in the background of this photograph.
16 years is a long time. And people change a lot in such timeframes. And in other ways they change very little. And in both ways is the strength of love tested and strained. And the fierce, sharp feeling of those first few days, weeks and months becomes a memory. Replaced by a distant echo of the original.
When my subconscious sought to feel once again the fire of the first passion, it brought my Mari back to me from the distant past and reminded me of the girl who drove all thoughts of others from me. Burned them out with a searing flame until there was nothing left inside but a vision of her, etched on the walls of my mind. Emblazoned on my retinae, ever after I saw only her.
It is for this reason that no matter the row, no matter the problem, no matter the sting of harsh words, I cannot hold onto anger. I cannot hold onto anything but the love I feel. All else slips, silky, through my fingers like smoke and is blown away. Blown away by the solar wind of the sun she ignited in my chest those many years ago.
I can but pray nightly that the same is so for her.
Because I am not easy to live with.
Time passed and the memory haunted me less until finally I forgot about it altogether.
Late last year Mari started scanning old photos given to her by all parts of her extended family. And 3 weeks ago she showed me a picture that shot like lightning to my heart and squeezed. I was almost driven to the floor with the power of it. But for the photograph I knew to be the cause I would have thought I must be having a heart attack.
She had found the young lady.
In an old photograph in an old photo album that had lain forgotten in the bottom of a packing box in our shed.
It was Mari.
I knew it was so immediately.
The only image I had left of the dream was a vision of the young lady smiling at me with love; a vaguely familiar room in the background. The room in the background of this photograph.
16 years is a long time. And people change a lot in such timeframes. And in other ways they change very little. And in both ways is the strength of love tested and strained. And the fierce, sharp feeling of those first few days, weeks and months becomes a memory. Replaced by a distant echo of the original.
When my subconscious sought to feel once again the fire of the first passion, it brought my Mari back to me from the distant past and reminded me of the girl who drove all thoughts of others from me. Burned them out with a searing flame until there was nothing left inside but a vision of her, etched on the walls of my mind. Emblazoned on my retinae, ever after I saw only her.
It is for this reason that no matter the row, no matter the problem, no matter the sting of harsh words, I cannot hold onto anger. I cannot hold onto anything but the love I feel. All else slips, silky, through my fingers like smoke and is blown away. Blown away by the solar wind of the sun she ignited in my chest those many years ago.
I can but pray nightly that the same is so for her.
Because I am not easy to live with.
Happy Anniversary Baby. I Love You.
2 comments:
*tear* This is so uber sweet :) We can only wish that our hubbies could write something so poignant. BTW, we *must* see this photo of Mari :)
Cheers mate, we'll track it down (again) and post it on flickr.
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