Why is it that I cannot love another way. Other than these soul crushing, heart rending, flesh ripping ways. Whether it be my lover, my sisters, my mother or my father, I never do it quite in halves. When I think of them, when I feel them, all I see is blood.
When I think of my lover, my beautiful, beautiful man, who stands beside me, before me, and behind me. I see a kiss on his lips, never kind words, kind words are for the defeated and he knows no one shall ever defeat me. The way I love him is like a shadow. Ever present and guiding of the light that is shining. It can be scary to those who do not understand it, or know from whence it came. But in the darkness and doubt, I am with him, and no one can block me out from loving him in a completeness unfathomable.
When I think of my sisters, those two paragons of beauty, creativity, and grace, I think of nothing but strength. I know that neither of them truly need me in the scheme of things, both too powerful to ever place themselves completely at anothers hands, but I love them so. The way I love them is like a roman army, a battalion of blood thirsty troops armed to the teeth. I am there to be called upon with the rage of a thousand suns, fearing nothing and loyal to no one except their siren call across a battlefield. I know given the chance I would destroy anything for them, any obstacle, anyone, anything, even if it was themselves. I will always be on call to them, a word away from pillaging my way to saving theirs.
When I think of my mother, her kindness, empathy, and willingness to believe, I know she is someone I will look up to forever. I will never have her capacity for forgiveness and unadulterated passion for people. I don’t understand and I’ve finally realised, as I’ve grown older, it’s okay not to. The way I love her is as an impenetrable shield, soft to her and abrasive, deflective to the outside world. There is something far too precious not to protect inside my mother, her self worth and beauty and just boundless joy for any situation. She deserves more than the moon and the stars, and will no doubt in this cruel life receive neither, but she draws her strength elsewhere. So I will protect, I will tell her that she is worth it, that she is wonderful and deserving and gorgeous and transcendent when even she cannot believe it. Because she is worth it.
When I think of my father, I see compassion, majesty, pure power and strength of will. I see a man who will bow to no one but himself and his most loved. I see in him the ability to be in equal measure completely in control, but able to let go. He has the deepest and most profound capacity to love, and be loved in return. The way I love my father is to be free. Free of constraint and inhibition, freedom to be who I am and to complete his circle of unbounded love. That is the way he loves and lives, unforgivingly, unforgettably, unrestrained. I will simply be there for him. I want to be there for him as he has been for me. I want him to know what it is like to have someone forever with you without strings, without rhyme nor reason. I shall be free for him. I shall be completely open so I can love him with the same abandon as he has loved me.
I cannot love without all of me. I cannot love without ripping myself into these joyful, neverending, painful shreds. I will not love without it.