Luna,
There is something human
in imagining a peaceful passing, of being with family at home away in a
nearness to sleep and slipping under not waking up. Before the release
having dear ones close to speak words, hugs, and filling out spaces on memories
to remain in the world of the living to be remembered in colorful ornaments.
Sometimes relationships, however short, can bear likeliness. One
wants to savor what was before accepting the inevitable in as palatable a
dosage and form as possible.
I have not had many close
relationships in my life. When I meet somebody I feel like I am on the
same page with and decide to let into my world it is a big deal for me.
There is a large part of me that feels that I am meant to be alone, not
because I cannot find anyone, but that I am really just meant to live alone in
a relatively solitary life based on my needs. I’ve dated and felt no
relatable connection so many times. I crave my space. As a writer
I just know how I work, what it feels like to click inspired poetically or not
to feel a measure of it duality. That is why this was so hard on me, I
felt something different in you that challenged the nature of what to expect,
of what was possible; you shook me.
Maybe that comes across
as immature or sad given the copious nature of my writing. I see the
world through my poetic spirit first. That was stimulated from what
appeared to float in our talks. I just know I am tapped into a different
wavelength than most people. That is the stuff I take the most seriously.
My apologies if that made
it weird for you. It was not feelings for you or my thoughts of what
feelings you had for me; it was about you as a person, as a divine being in
this universe and striking me hard through my essence as powerful interrelated
with something bigger than my-self. Maybe that sounds crazy. Maybe
most people don’t take that stuff seriously or important, maybe you do, maybe
you don’t.
I have lived my life as a
writer and a highly meditative person. I am linked into deeper
‘spiritual’ threads in what existence is. You hit me like that especially
when you started to open up, when you were vulnerable in those windows.
It was not the be-all or an only sort of thing, just an I better pay
attention because this is important kind of thing as a touchstone on my human
journey. That is where all this writing has generated, from my conflicted
processing of trying to digest the novelty and power of understanding what that
was.
You obviously did not
have that experience. Maybe you were blocked. Maybe you were open
and not wanting. That is an inner sanctum only you can know.
I wished for time to
continue our conversations, of getting to know each other. While dating I
was not ready nor in a position to try to describe to you the place your
essence or spiritual-being was resonating with me as kindred or powerful.
It was the kind of thing I wanted to share face to face at the proper
time as I had a better understanding of it and describe or address this
unspoken vibe going on in the background of our meetings, of how we could talk
like that, of something bigger, odder and different than simply an emotional
connection.
The emotional connection
was normal, just beginning. To me spiritual connections do not work in
the same manner (as a function of time). A soul is like a candle, either
lit or not. One sees the luminescence of another’s soul as wholly present
or sees little to nothing based on our own openness or closure to another’s
frequency in the spectrum. It is not necessarily explained or understood,
but it is there, apparent and vibrant. The flame that I saw in you was
one of the brightest.
I just know life is so
much more than television, rent, cars, water, and sex. Life is art
tapping into an interconnectedness that I hold above all. You felt like
interconnectedness to me like a pulsing font of potential energy and my flawed
being wanted to try to see a chance to share part of his time on this Earth
with you for whatever that might have been. In my consciousness things
like that are part human brains making decisions and part the confluences of
what is bigger than me interacting. I felt that very much in meeting you
and it has been difficult to find the peace to get to this point of letting my
thoughts of you go like a spirit passing into and out of my path.
What I was experiencing
may have added a pressure to you in the veiled reality. To me it is just
who you were; that exists independent of me. In this case I did not need
long to see you worth my interest in this regard.
I make those kinds of
decisions on what I feel in bones, in spirit, and rarely with my head. I
try to feel how life appears to be fitting together and go with that flow.
It was never a function of commitment, love, or certitude, but more like
removing the measure of a curtain before a window. I came to a place of
wanting to display my being most transparently. As the juncture
transpired, my words combined with your deliberation imploded. You chose
no.
I struggled so mightily
in how I could feel I saw so clearly who you were, mainly like a closed flower
and the beauty of your mind and be so wrong that my conjecture could not reach
a more elaborative personal part of you willing to converse on a more human
level than the terse formality presented.
The succinctness drew me
to deliberate the pressures on you to see me as hardened clay, as if I was
attempting definition in the nativity of our introduction rather than a man
asserting his intention of pursuit and for you to continue your interest.
I used terms and answered your questions with an openness to be
misunderstood, assuming more time for us to learn of each other in a low key
setting.
I felt touched in such a
dear place. I saw your quiet artistic contradiction stitched in the
flair. There was a contemplative sweetness in a sultry library thrashing
a wilderness from your head I appreciated.
I wrote too much.
That shit hurt. I felt the vulnerability I displayed was like an
extended hand to demonstrate it was safe for you to mirror even a semblance of
that openness. I genuinely felt in my heart you were starting to do that,
but I also felt from the beginning there was so much of you held back.
Your openness did not feel like full release more like a stretched rubber
band destined to snap back into its habitual form.
My intuition, my gut, my
feelings told me in a sense that for you like Rumi “your task (was) not to seek
for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you
have built against it.” I saw you had many rules and barriers to
intimacy. I felt if you were ever going to get close to me you had to
talk to me at some point about what your rules were and why you installed them.
This was your natural path to openness and your odyssey to
deliberate.
I saw that as a process I
hoped you would share with me over time. I thought it was the only way to
really get to know you with your guard down. I knew exiting your place of
closure was likely to scare you and possibly make you see me as someone asking
you to change rather than as someone simply interested and starting to care who
hoped you would choose openness as a precursor to giving us a fair shot.
I wanted to get to know you to find out if this was a good fit for me,
but neither of us could do that with the closed space you appeared to be in.
That closure like a roadblock would inevitably stall our relationship as
I imagined others you have participated. So I tried to just write and
talk with you with what I felt your soul needed to cultivate openness.
I wanted you to see
through the window I had removed the curtain for you, what it took for me to
part that shade, and to a degree the complexity of why I was reacting in such a
flood. I wanted a tear drop of your empathy to snuff the match lit as if
this was a more human experience.
In rereading some of the
things I wrote I see how some of that stuff could have come across as
overreaching or serious rather than what it was, passion flying thoughts
amongst the many. I understood your reactions through that type of
paradigm.
I felt my poetic
intuition saw the roots of who you are before the thorny flowers guarding your
core-self. I felt your wildness, the buck of your mare, the bite of your
fangs into my lip feeling them like guardians of a quiet space I saw out of
traditional order.
How interested you ever
were in me I don’t know; I just know it was secondary to where you needed to be
and how your urge to press the brake pedal exceeded your desire to let the
vehicle coast; meaning even if you were interested in me I felt you would have
pushed me away just the same.
I second guessed myself a lot. I felt inside you maybe I
saw a woman wanting something she had been looking for and maybe running away
from for a long time because it would inevitably alter things inside her maybe
she did not want to deal with. You seemed hesitant to leave your space
and expose to try.
You can put on my layers
of years and stories, but the core of me is the same. So I may not know
ninety plus percent of your stories, but the you that keeps your back to the
wall, is nude but reveals nothing, over analyzes and is actually an introvert
despite all the flair; I got her. She touched me. How interested
she was in me, I don’t know. Based on what you emailed me, I imagine not
much at all. How all my writing may have affected you, I don’t know, but
I hope you filtered through my off-tangent ramblings to the pith of my
communications.
I know you needed your
space; I had a hard time wrapping my brain around what happened. I wrote
a lot of stuff, from a lot of different angles, because I thought we were two
exceptionally rare people who may or may not have worked out, but had
potential. We had an ability to hold conversations, be in an intimate
place raw and human with a commensurate depth few people in my life and no
romantic interest of mine have ever projected. It was different and
shocking, innate and I knew was a lot to take in for both of us. The
power in that was real, whether it was right for either of us or sustainable
that is unknown, but the power was real.
I wanted to try to become
closer, to be friends, lovers, but by no means each other’s world. People
get different things from different people and grow and should never deny the
roots that nourish their identity. I felt this struggle in you like being
with anyone too personally threatens to cut those roots for you. I
struggle in dating anyone I feel like I have to entertain; you didn’t make me
feel like that. The low or minimal need you appeared to display for a
partner to occupy your daily routine was a plus for me.
I felt we had a chance as
we could be side by side reading together with a hand around an ankle maybe
listening to Ella and Louis or Dinah and Brook Benton sing, maybe one day a
hand touching a hand and simultaneously personal and universal. I felt
that was the spot in the spectrum of life I felt we had a chance to feed each
other like an oasis to branch out to our art, careers, friends and pursuits.
There was a chance for this manner of empathetic dearness to usurp fears
for mutually complex people. I thought you would get me when I needed my
time to write and read, because you knew what it meant to feed the creativity
that fuels your life. I was hopeful for reciprocation.
The quiet you that keeps
her back to the wall and the me that wrote those poems that was raw, honest,
and core; that is what haunted me. I do not know how you took me to that
place and I do not know how I saw that place in you. I wanted you to take
more of the reins to guide us to where you needed to be and when I requested
that your response was away.
I heard the soul music,
the deep-personal like Antony’s voice, I saw the opera of your quiet and the
few things you would say aloud; I saw the contrast in your costumes and the
woman behind who actually spent time with me; I am experienced enough to know
the legitimacy of the intimacy of those experiences and how hard they are to
find in this universe. I know how big they felt, how scary that melody is
to attempt to find harmony given how life can go.
I know how much easier it
can be to stay secluded, to avoid swimming in the deeper waters, to smile,
play, and avoid looking into someone’s eyes and know souls are exposed praying
nothing gets destroyed. One can kiss, have sex, dance with some, but that
look, that vulnerability is the essence we hold-in that pulses with the
universe, it’s our kernel. Maybe that is a place you feel you can never
go with a person again. I found that thought sad. Maybe it just could
never be with me; I don’t know.
I thought of the idea of
you ever being in a place of your life to say, “I love you” to a partner or to
accept the idea that a partner could say it to you and mean it was something
foreign or unnavigable to ever reach the idea of being that personal or close.
I don’t know but you made me feel like you viewed your life like a knot
wound so tight that such a scene was impossible in the concourse of most
iterations of your future like that was part of your never with anyone, like
you know you are just not built to be dependent or vulnerable in that way.
I don’t know if that is true, but I found that thought sad.
I felt the racetrack of
your dancing life and wondered if you felt yourself limited in or purposely
restricted yourself in the logistics in choosing the type of man that could be
in your life and you would not have to risk exposure. Like that burlesque
world has a sense of frolic, moonlight, and alcohol to coat the seriousness,
the intimacy with a smiling laugh that provides a distance as a convenient buffer
to intimacy.
I felt judged and like
you were cheating us both because even trying risks more than you could explain
to me in words. You did not even choose to invite me to see you dance
before shedding me from your life. You did not choose to speak or call.
When I sent that text of how much a simple phone call would mean to me
and got silence I felt the scorpion. I felt your lack of response to
provide me better closure was selfish and unkind on the surface, but inside a
measure of your confliction of things you want and fear in the garden you have
grown.
I am a complicated man;
you’re a complicated woman. Upon meeting you I could tell there was
nothing simple about you. You’re just not, you’re exceptional. I’m
exceptional and I have known that in my life the rule was never going to work
to fit with how I am built. I needed the one of out of a thousand,
because that is who I am. I am not better or worse, just different and
capable of going, thinking, and feeling places most people do or cannot.
I thought we could share conversations most people I meet just can’t
hold. For someone to get into that place and honestly touch and inspire
me there was going to take the anomaly.
I was only interested in
spending time with all of you; I wanted us to push each other’s boundaries like
catalysts for growth. I knew continuing to stay around you was going to
change me; I was not sure how, but I knew we would each grow in unique ways if
that would have continued.
If you wanted a man to
pull you further into the burlesque world, to anchor you there that could never
be me. That is your journey. I admire it; I think it is artistic
and beautiful, but I would always be a counterbalance to the gravity that pulls
you there to provide a greater completeness rather than a landslide. If
you wanted a man to balance and supportively accentuate that world, that might
have worked. The broadness of a man's shoulders is not measured in
inches.
I am not a visual being.
I never have been. Most men are; I’m not. I appreciate
physical beauty, but without an inner context it all blurs into a non-interface
surface. The inside makes the outside personal, without a linkage to the
inner I am vastly ambivalent outside of basic tenants of sexuality that might
biologically turn me on for the moment, but sustain nothing. I have
little interest in seeing a burlesque show absent you or a woman I would know
personally in it; and I’m not ever going to one of your shows.
I guess my point is that
somewhere inside I felt like we were each trying to balance our lives out.
When I thought of your burlesque life, I thought of your thoughts behind
all the glitter and I thought I might have a place there the same way I thought
you might pull me to places I needed to be because you were smart, creative,
and strong enough to help me grow and see a greater picture of the world.
I felt the reason you stepped
out your comfort zone was because you were looking for that type of balancing
different and maybe shedding some of your potential self-restrictions in the
arena of intimacy. If you wanted a man to complement the quiet you and at
times to go out and rollick in a barroom, but for the most part provide you a
dexterity anchored in a place maybe only one person in the world can fit at a
time that maybe could have been me. There are hundreds to fill out the
remainder.
I know what I want in my
life and it damn sure does not fit in a box or the standard rule. I want
my own version of a counterbalance knowing there are places my spirit and mind
have to go that no matter who is in my life they cannot for the most part
follow.
In my contemplation I saw
a journey you had to do for you I saw this deeply emotional beautiful complex
person sequestered so far away who pulls further inward or snaps at anyone
attempting to get too close. I imagined reasons for that, but knew that
was always your choice. This overdone conversation I created is swept
into a past beyond visitation. I see the rockslide at the entrance.
There are things that I wrote knowing the line you crossed to burn the
bridge behind you.
I was emotionally abused
in my past: isolated, terrorized, ignored, and threatened. I have done a
lot of work and initiated changes in my life to undo the carnage to my
self-image from an abusive climate of disregard. The way you departed was
not abusive, but it also was not the only way you could have chosen to handle
that given the personal manner of our interactions. The truncation of not
getting a chance to give you a hug and say goodbyes, to basically feel it was
real, just not what you want in the long term, but to validate feelings with
words rather than silence, pushed me out into the waters of feelings of my
emotionally abused past to a degree which exacerbated how I digested the
experience. Some of the things I wrote came from that place, but most of
it came from the feelings I started to have for you and a want to keep going
based on the candle I saw in you. I hope you can understand that segmentation
as a professional, but foremost as the woman I met. I am not perfect; I
am not giving myself a pass, but this is the life I have lived; it’s
complicated.
I hope I left you with
something that brings you to a place of better or accentuated, broadened, grown.
For me the universe gave me the lesson to let things go. For you
maybe it was to be a bit more vulnerable to not embrace the callousness of a
stinger with such readiness to keep people away. There is little beauty
in it and the contrast is glaring in the flush of beauty you hold.
I would have greatly
appreciated you going out on that ledge to openly express whatever feelings you
did have and still depart to go the way you wished to go. The measure of
faith of being that vulnerable to share that recognition is a faith in
accepting the possibility of love in one’s life as a gift rather than a curse.
I imagine you have dated many people in short-term experiences of various
depths but this like some of them bore uniqueness worthy of more than an email
or a text. Your apparent barrier to engage in rather than quash such a
confrontation of sentiment and kiss a seal of closure rather than slit and flee
from an open wound is I imagine what you have left on your end to debate as a
measure of growth.
My debate is to recognize
the nature of volition and kindness in this universe and my reaction to it.
When people do not wish to be in my life I need to retract my mental
space for those people in a fairer manner to all parties. As a writer these
are powerful emotions to paint and I have often languished in the inspiration
tethering my mental space to the idea of contemplative analysis, universal
presence, and at times my imperfections.
There was a time in our
conversations where I thought you very well may have been that anomaly of my
life. I was willing to expend these efforts in that search knowing that
you are a mutable being to see if that might be true.
I hoped you might want to
slow down, take a breath, be real, be you, stage name, Luna, all of you,
willing to think about sharing the inner with the man you saw in my face, in my
writing, as complex, beautiful, ugly, flawed, and strong as I am. I
thought you might want to try to tilt the neck of your life in a direction that
accentuates who you are by sharing with him. I no longer have those
hopes.
Severus
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