Here you are, my darling.
Soaking your soul in this strangely comforting bath of nostalgia. Letting its bubbles caress your skin at rest. You like how it feels to be this solid; to be able to stand without tottering. You’re looking at your life scar; loving how much you love it now. How you own this scar, jagged edges and scattered nerves and all. You remember what life was like when your scar owned you, don’t you? How seductive it was. How familiar it was to float through life day after day cloaked in armour woven out of pain and solitude. How its long fingers curled mercilessly around your throat, choking your ability to speak, or even dream of speaking. How ugly it was to be enslaved by your own mind.
You stroke your scar, familiarising yourself with the power it once had. Your throat is constricted; but there is beauty in this constriction. There is release.
It all happened in peculiar sets of twos: Two memorable kisses, night and day, opposing forces: the past and present. Two pivotal people: polar opposites.
Chaperoned by darkness the first kiss happened. It was an accident really. A slip of restraint hesitant as it was scalding. A brief brush of desire between two sets of lips with an equal and opposite anguish. Lips that belonged to shoulders that hung heavy with the soreness that is a life unhappy. Those lips were also tainted by a whimsy resulting from a marriage between tequila and whiskey. Two people who had no business kissing; a union between emotional vampires.
In darkness your scar owned you, darling. Like a pet with a sadistic master. You walked the rooms of unrequited love in a body I didn’t recognise. Skin that flaked as badly as the crusty aftermath of dried tears in the morning shower, hands that trembled often, eyes often red and swollen, words impassioned with self-deprecating slander, and lips that quivered constantly against Dunhill. It was a suffocating force that lay next to you every night, invading your dreams. One that woke you up at night drenched in floods of panic.
In darkness you forgot that if you have to chase a love, make excuses for it, rationalise its often hurtful actions, and greedily soak in stolen seconds in darkened restaurants only to endure weeks of loneliness, then you are lost. You forgot that if you have to ask and wonder if someone loves you…you are not a person loved. You are an option.
In darkness, that first kiss made you feel less than deserving of a love engulfing as it is nourishing. It was incomplete. It made you doubt your place in a world that didn’t see you as beautiful, as worthy as you wanted to be. It broke you. Life, it’s cruelty…it broke you.
Everyone left. And they all broke you. People you loved died. People you loved changed and you changed too. You tried to be with someone you did not love hoping that their love would be an infectious bug you would eventually catch. But you only broke them. You did strange things to yourself. Things people do when they are lost and lonely.
And although it took many horrors and many undignified seasons my darling, you found yourself. Found the pieces of you that the past and that kiss and life had scattered into the wind and you pieced them all back together. And you opened your mouth and loved the sound that your voice made. Long before that second kiss, you danced to the music that your voice made.
And in between these two kisses, there were moments.
Within these moments, your scars congregated. Slim scars, fat scars, funny scars, successful scars, special scars, sad scars, terrifying scars. Little dents scattered all over your being. These dents kept altering shape and morphed seamlessly into the benign thorn that you are stroking today.
You remember the only person that you thought you were and would ever be in the dark until one morning you opened your eyes and you no longer needed a Dunhill just so you could breathe. You no longer needed tendrils of smoke scalding your chest just to be able to face the day.
You are here darling. You haven’t died.
And how you waited, my darling. How you waited for that death caused by not being loved by one who didn’t know you, or need to know you. How you faithfully waited, lying on your back looking into the ceiling with eyes filled with acidic rain. Night after night, just waiting for a death that never came.
You remember in the weeks after, how instead of dying, you lived instead. Minutes became months. You played with your hair. You hated your boss. You loved your pay check. You put wine red lipstick on, stained wine glasses with it. You laughed. You changed. You fell. You stood up. You failed. You tried again. You discovered how beautiful the sound of your laugh is, how endearing your silliness can be. You fell in love with you. But my darling…you lived.
And here you are, my darling. Perfect in your imperfection.
In daylight, the second kiss unapologetically came to be. And what a revelation it was. Two layers of sweetness merging perfectly in their acceptance of each other. Lips coated with chocolate cake crumbs and sheened with red wine. This kiss was as alluring as it was assertive; a longer, delicately delicious symphony that only the right amount of chemistry can conjure up. Lips that said yes, you matter to me. Your broken is a blessing.
It was a voice that drew you in, but did not make you timid. Made you drunk with desire and excitement. There was a different cadence in that voice; a grandiose effervescence. A voice that laughs often and wants to share this boundless laughter with you. A voice that has heard the precipitation from this scar you now own, but still stayed. It assures you that although time is meaningless you have nothing to fear in distance. Most of all, it’s a voice. There is no need for you to fill in gaps and colour within empty vacuums with frantic assumptions and suggestions because there is no silence. It wants your best version, that voice. And it wants to be a part of your journey to your best version.
Isn’t it wonderful, my darling? To discover life after tunnel vision? Isn’t it wonderful to know that broken does not mean forever damaged? I have never seen anything as beautiful as this moment. The moment a woman discovers her worth. And I cannot begin to tell you, my darling…
How wonderful it is to see happy tears in your eyes.