“I am more than a person, I’m a soul and so are you, our path is eternal but it isn’t identical, we may meet again but we will never be us again, mourn my loss my damaged angel, as I shall mourn yours.”
There it was, etched upon on my mirror in scarlet, a temporary souvenir from a night that had done permanent damage whilst liberating me from all my angst. A night that destroyed me and created me, a night I ache for and dread. A dawn that wouldn’t get here soon enough and the engulfing darkness I was holding on to for dear life.
Fresh in the throes of the loss of ‘love’ and of life for the first time ever, I was in a tender place. The pain I was so desperately fighting, the rationality I adhered by to ensure I never succumbed to what I believed was human weakness; emotion, were all at stake. I wasn’t about to subjugate myself to the pain, I couldn’t. I had to be the pillar of strength that held it all together, the binding agent, and the picture of a rock. Stoic.
So, I was at a cafe, up in the mountains, on a cold evening, sitting alone and reading. I saw her, watching me and smiling. Being quite fond of communicating with strangers, I smiled back but more as a pretext to observe her. Black, wavy hair, dark eyes that despite all odds sparkled. The smile, not just depictive of amicability but amusement, besides being the place where she hid her pain instead of those overrated eyes. Objectively, she was rather shabbily dressed; old, deeply faded clothes of no aesthetic value, mismatched even yet the comfort which so obviously showed in her demeanor rendered her attire rather exquisite. She reminded me of Him. I could see the same life in her, the same recklessness, the same impulsiveness, the same hedonism, the same command… Yet, she wasn’t Him at all.
She approached, I didn’t look away, but I looked down, she was barefooted, and walking with precise deliberation yet in Her head, she seemed to be floating towards me. She asked no permission to sit down and join me, I hadn’t expected her to. Her name was Savera, the morning, yet she was the night keeper guiding me to dusk, she was the beholder of darkness, she was the custodian of abject euphoric blackness, the bringer of eventide, even if she was dressed in white.
We talked, Oh yes, how we talked.. She held my hand and extracted the words, the cast a spell and I helped her incant it. I was mesmerized but it wasn’t enough, not yet..
She began to probe, began to question and I prepared myself to run away. I was looking for strangers, and all of a sudden She was looking to be a stranger no more. Yet, the spell was cast, the moving finger had writ; I invited her to a soiree that I knew was underway that night to distract her instead. She hastily agreed to accompany me however she was not deterred from her incessant questioning.
Why are you here? Who are you? What do you do? When do you leave?
Finally, after giving me, what She thought were adequate chances to respond, she held my hand firmly; not just with love, not just as comfort but as a command, she caught my gaze and dared me to look away with her eyes, I didn’t.
She said, “Why is it that no one can question you, Zatasha?”
I was at a loss for words, yet I said, “You don’t have to be home tonight, do you?”
At the party, we kept a distance, throughout. We didn’t talk at all, yet we looked. We both knew what was coming, or at least that’s what I believed, the idea intrigued and repulsed me at the same time.
It wasn’t long before we were alone in my room, I lit a cigarette and poured her a glass of wine, “Offer it to me”, she said, “The correct way”. She had identified me, I had given no warning signs but I all fairness, neither had She. She sat on the edge of my bed and I knelt before Her, between Her legs. I handed her the glass, she took it in one hand, and grabbed my hair in another. I felt her nails in my scalp, Her fingers in toying with the strands, despite the fact the she was being hurtful, She wasn’t rough. She raised my chin, sipped her wine, looked into my eyes, piercing me and said, “Talk to me Zatasha”.
Of all the words I had imagined being able to penetrate my icy exterior, those were never the ones I’d thought I’d succumb to. Yet, despite my free will, I was choiceless. Perhaps, my mind too conditioned to disobey a direct order.
I told her of the emptiness, the void that had consumed me. I told her of having been a child, but being unable to recall a childhood. I told her of the pain of loss and how it numbs you. How it terrifies me by threatening to nullify my ability to feel it. I told her of faceless strangers who had taken me close to divinity and dropped me back on the ground to shatter. I told her of places I conceived. Emotions, I did not understand. And of Him, Him.. Who I had ached for, who had I longed for, but who I could never have again. Him, who had stopped breathing and convinced me that was reason enough to forget. Who had taught me that our body is just a wrapper, who we are, is what our soul is made of. Who had purchased me from a street corner and then made me realize I was priceless, yet He could establish my worth. Who had given me wings to fly by enslaving me.
She let me go on for what felt like hours, I looked at her and all she said was, “Admit it”.
“Admit what?”, even though I knew, but I wanted to delay it as much as I could.
The resonating slap that fell on my cheek was far more awakening than it was intended to be and the tears and the words flew out at the same time, “I miss Him.”
Admittance, that is what finally made my tears flow. She let me cry, She didn’t hold me, She didn’t even talk.
I felt like I was alone, yet not so.
And then, at Her feet and between Her legs, this particular stranger did take me to divinity. We crashed into each other, at the speed of light.
We required no implements, nothing expect two bodies writhing together and dancing to the music of the soul. Her little hard kisses that teased every sense they approached. Her tenderly rough touch that destroyed my ability to think. She had me serve her, over and over, as if insatiated for years. I was drinking her, her nectar and her poison. She hurt me, but forbade me from crying out, just by the look in Her eyes. I was so close to Her then and knew her so well; I knew her epicenters of pleasure and I explored each niche of her body as She lay back to allow me to please her however even as I lay with my face buried between her legs, she was an enigma. I could manipulate her body into climaxing numerous times for she willed it, but I had no access to Her mind even though it was right there in front of me.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she led me naked to the roof, without a word. Just pulling me by my hair, and I followed, unquestioning.
She gestured that I lie down on the cold, rough terrain and needless to say, I complied. She may have climbed on top of me, but She didn’t contact a single part of my body. She moved her hands all over me, yet she didn’t touch me. I felt her touch, nonetheless, I felt it on my face, my arms, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, my legs.. I felt her fingers all over me, even though there was an inch of sacred electricity and dancing particles of life between us at all times. In that magical space, I felt more than the distance engulf me. I felt the stars watching us, the sky blanketing us, the wind howling and serenading, the darkness obscuring the obvious and her fingers bringing it all to me.
Conventionally, we didn’t make love, but what we did was so moving that I was appalled at never having done it before, i felt her face so close to mine, and I served her; with my eyes, my breath, my scent, my movement.. She didn’t need to tie my hands with rope for she had tied them with Her mind, She didn’t need words to tell me what to do because her unspoken commands were clearer than the sky after eternal rain.
She didn’t need to demand my subjugation, for She had deflowered my soul.