Only by faith – H.Poole.
You can have faith without love but you cannot love without faith.
Our love was a beautiful disaster. I was the wreckage and you, the casualty. We loved each other like a car crash and we carved into each other like timelines on a silver birchwood tree. We tried to defy all reason and love without faith, independence becoming as rational as the maternal struggle. We dived into salmon waters without thoughts under our belts. My stream of consciousness fell apart as the glue was never waterproof. We will never understand how destiny would bring us right back to where we started again. Like the ring that you wear around that finger.
In your monotropic mind, the idea of the perplexity of marriage encompasses you. You silently question my motives of walking you down the aisle, naked teeth bared and ethereal thoughts violently fighting against sense of sound. I see the ring, so unnecessarily glamourised with harsh cut diamonds and pearls like beads on an abacus. Such a childish error of self-preservation on your behalf. Your moral compass always was a little off. That ring that you wear is the loophole that you so valiantly discovered. The loophole in life; in which you may be loved, but no love will ever slip away from your cold flesh. There is an overly glorified saying about love, that it is a game that both can win. How wrong we have proven a lover in denial of existence.
You wear that ring like it’s wrapped around you. The wedding; flashbacks of white roses, skin thin as paper. Purity that runs through crimson veins, leaving scars to lie in faith and love and all things overrated. And to entertain the notion that love is labour lost in time, is to cover a child’s eyes from a tender scene, not far from where we stand. We will all fall, not into love or faith or hope, but into reality, that you forgot was beneath you all this time.
The accusation, that you so solemnly made, caught me in a whirlwind of raspberry bruises and skin splitting like silk. You quietly lied as a Trojan horse, concealing the deepest secrets that even I knew, you could not face sedulously.
Even now, after religiously denying any sense of leftover feelings, we stand like we have been robbed of our idolized sanity. Our eyes emulate such ambiguity it is futile to try and begin etching copper words on bloodless paper. Now, I am drowning in your tragically beautiful life, surrounded by the pressing interrogation as I watch you fall asleep. Fragile flaxen curls that suit your brittle frame so well. The neutral olive eyes that shattered upon impact with reality. Milky skin that feels so painfully comforting to run my wild hands over. The jutting collarbones that I found intriquing, so perfectly broken, so unprotected by warm freckled skin.
I remember sitting in the cold night air, on tender moss and relentless earth. You came outside to me and we sat for an eternity. We did not utter a single word, but the exchange of silences felt like purification. The rain started, right on cue. Raging copper pennies, violently escaping God’s great sky, slapping the earth like the final act of independence. Nothing and everything ended on that tender moment. We were in limbo, between the edge of faith and the uncharacteristic sober termination of love. We were lovers. Not by trade, but by faith.
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