Early
this summer, housebound and in between the edits for Prosecco & Paparazzi
and beginning Cognac & Couture, I began a book, called What We Know, We
See. It is about the connection of two souls who never really understood each
other. Too many words have remained unsaid and the couple know each other by
actions and deeds. And while that sometimes is for the best, in this case,
years have passed, and the silence is still disquieting.
I
hope you enjoy this snippet. The book is in the very rough stages – really rough,
actually – but it speaks to me, and what I think love might be, when one can
only take cues, because the words that are spoken are so in contrast with
actions that they render the speaker virtually silent.
Overlooking
Puget Sound, August 21, 2015
I have a thousand thoughts to share, and as I sit
here, amongst the mess that is my office, I wonder if I ever will. That’s what
happens when one falls in love with a complete stranger. One wonders a great
many things. A stranger connotes many things.
A person who does not know us is inherent in the
problem. A person we do not know. A person who is a complete puzzle. Rather
than recount what I do not know about you or you about me, it is easier to say
what is known. But that is not what I wish… not what my heart wishes, to focus
on.
From the first moment – the first synchronization of
heartbeats, the first hello – to the last email, I have been lost in a dream of
possibilities. Yes, I wake up from time to time. I clatter to earth when razor
sharp words are bandied about. You are with her, doing something normal,
everyday’ish. I crash to earth when you do something, like travel to
places I may have been. I find my heart and my brain straining to place you on
the map, locate you on a corner, imagine you inside a restaurant, wonder if you
are picking a Malbec or a Bordeaux. That I know these things. Regrettable.
I asked you, “Is this real?” Your answer was
instant. “Yes.” My heart leapt. We are real. We are not just a fantasy that I
have concocted. We are. For a few
fleeting minutes, or was it hours, that was enough. But then uncertainty sets
in. Right now, this very minute, we are living very real lives, that are worlds
apart, so infinitely different they cannot be compared. So, how real can we be?
My real. Your real. That we breathe, that we sleep, that we eat, that we drink.
That is what we have in common.
Silly girl that I am, I have found myself lost in
fantasies many times where you boldly take my hand, walk down the street beside
me, kiss me, are seen with me. Then you get in your car and drive away to do
crazy things, like shop with for snow tires, purchase patio furniture, go on
vacation, plan tomorrow with her. Jealousy. It isn’t something that I am proud
of, but I am. I am jealous. Yet this morning when I woke-up to the fondling
hands of my lover, I didn’t turn him away. How could I? He has been my world,
he is my world, he is my link to all that says, ‘I am.’ Silly girl that I am, I
think of you as his hands slide across my body, as his mouth tastes me, and I
know that if I try just a little harder, I will smell your scent in the air.
But a line must be drawn somewhere and here I draw it. Of all things, why your
scent? A mystery.
I bend and sway in the wind, as if I have no worries
in the world, but I have once again transformed myself to be someone’s whim. I
move and bow at your command and I slowly grow too unfamiliar with myself. This
is what I fear the most. That I am unrecognizable to myself. I have lost myself
so many times before. “Are we real?” I do not know. Perhaps all we are is the
manifestation of what we are looking for when what we have is not enough. A
card trick, a sleight of hand. Magic.
Why did you pick me? Did you think I was strong
enough to withstand this jealousy, this torture? Or did you see me as someone
who was malleable and pathetic? I once felt powerful in your arms. You wanted
me so much that I had power, I had appeal. I am now… not. But to reveal all
this to you – can I? No.
My path is certain, my compass points true, and the
words I spoke one autumn day are truer than ever, “I am loyal to a fault.” You
will never know how much I wish I could change this. These rules of society, of
religion, of love. They shroud us, eventually. Once they were comforting and
promising. But now, in a world where people live far too long, these words,
these vows, they are only the words of people who couldn’t fathom life that lasted
forever. All our words and actions are recorded, to be replayed over and over
for many generations to come. The things that we do, good or unseemly, are never
to be forgotten.
Is this real? Yes. Can this be real forever? I do not know. Neither do you.
The dandelion bows to the wind and the seeds take
flight, and though the promise of another flower is sown in damp soil, our
love, I fear, it withers on the stalk.
Copyright, Celia Kennedy, 2015
>>Thanks for reading!<<
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