A Metaphysical Reality of Love

She sits down, unsettled in the knowledge that she needs to get back up. That’s how she walks too.  Around the concrete, dodging men. Sight. Shying away from owning movement.

These inhibitions are His absence. She realised that today.

The ashes of the tongue refuse to ignite. Under a damp cloak, the rain keeps pouring.

She listens to practicalities acquaintances go through. Meeting them, just another task on their list. To see each other’s faces again, just another glimpse through a window.

Waving through social expectations. Mannerisms of the normal. The forced process of speech. The dragging cloak of sanity, too heavy a burden to carry whilst spreading love.

Spreading love? Love is tired in a heart with albums of torn faces. Sentiments of memories. A select few her heart gives to. Left an empty shadow for the rest, entering a path of burning solitude.

Each relation under examination. Tested for its safety or danger. Labelled by its comfort or hurt. Her love never pierces through the negative to put herself on the line. For anyone but her permanents. Can’t afford to rid winds of their tornados. Been through too much of that. She’s been torn away.

Can’t reconcile realities. The beauty of perfection with the ugliness of humanity, the rigidness of faces, the emptiness of laughter. Turned into a fascination with fault. The politics of humanity. The cold endurance, listening to hate crimes and surgical justice.

Sacrifice holds no promise of the image of its own appearance. But recognised by experience. For whatever reasons. If only just to ignite minds. Ascend hearts in the uphill journey of us all.

She let go by His will.

But a prayer to be united. At the expense of here. She prayed not long ago.

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2 responses to “A Metaphysical Reality of Love

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