(written by M7 on March 16, 2007)
“Sometimes, I crave intimacy so badly, that I cry myself to sleep hugging my pillow.” She says, her face sad as she looks inside his liquid eyes wanting to touch him, but unable to reach her hand forward.
“Every night I sleep next to a person who is a thousand miles away, and I don’t even care.” He replies, his eyes cast down, accepting his existence, his purpose, unchained longing clinging to his lashes.
“Tell me.” She whispers urgently. “Which is worse? Those who are lonely yet have someone to sleep beside them, abhorring their breathing? Or the one who sleeps alone and makes love only in their dreams?”
He reaches his hand forward to sweep her hair from over her eyes, and she breathes heavily into his touch, her lids half closed. This is forbidden, isn’t it; to covet such as this, another’s vow, a child’s father, to crave morsels that turn into cravings, making her want to claw at her throat from the absence.
“The sting of solitude cuts deeper where there is no light, no hope, only the sound of life crumbling around you. See, there is hope for you. You are lovely and filled with colorful angst shooting from your pupils. My tunnel? It shows me darkness. It is an emotional abyss.”
His voice seeps with desperation as he twirls his thumbs around each other slowly. She watches the smoothness of his skin as it caresses each line used to provide human identity.
“Imagine my dismay as I wander,” She contemplates, “connecting with few, finding simplicity, boredom, lack of stimulation, but I must admit that being one alone is far more comfortable than being two in chosen separation.”
She cannot deny him the ownership, the validation of his own agony. Everything in her wants to pull his head to her chest so he can weep. Yet, they sit in silence, contemplating voids unanswered, accepting their own purpose in this fading connection that had been magnetic so long ago.
“Sagan.” He says quietly, looking off into the distance, a half smile on his lips.
“What?” She asks.
He takes her face into his hands. His eyes have passed her corneas and traveled into the center of her, sinking his words inside her earth; words that would grow fields of tall grass and wildflowers.
“Sagan said ‘I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.’ This is the only way I know how to love.”
So they love the only way they know how.