The love beyond time.
even when the price of that intimacy is a heart that knows how to mourn before it has even begun to dance.
A deep, persistent ache lives in the marrow of my bones. This pulling feeling transcends the limits of this single lifetime. It pulls me to a time. It is a story written in the ink of memories I cannot fully recall, yet recognise with every beat of my heart.
This heavy, hidden sorrow casts a shadow that stays carried by the thought that in a life long past, the man who loved me most met his end by my own hands. Perhaps that is why the hearts of those who reach for me now feel like echoes that never quite ring true. I pity, these good-intentioned souls, because the heart is already occupied by a ghost, or perhaps a destiny.
The soul’s constant north
Beneath the grief I bear lies this pulse of pure, undiluted yearning. I know him. I know him not by sight, but by the resonance of his spirit. He is the steadiness in the storm, a man of profound loyalty and quiet strength, one who knows my mind as well as he knows my heart. He dotes, because it is his nature to cherish. Out there somewhere in the vast expanse of time and space, and my soul perpetually leans toward his.
Is it a paradox of love?
This strange, bittersweet comfort in this longing, I hold. I keep the vision of him as an anchor, even as I recognise the tragic rhythm of our story. I know, with an instinct that defies logic, that even if I found him today, he would still be destined to leave me.
To love him is to accept the cycle of grief. To be with him is to walk toward an inevitable sunset.
And yet? I know I shall choose that fleeting light over a thousand years of mundane safety of the sun, for this once-in-a-lifetime burning star is mine.
A note
I write this to preserve the weight of this feeling, to honour the one who is mine, wherever he may be, and to hold space for the sorrow that makes love feel so sacred.
One lives not in wait or despair but in patient, heavy devotion and belief to guard the space in my soul that recognises, even when the price of that intimacy is a heart that knows how to mourn before it has even begun to dance.
“We are all just looking for the home we lost, even if we’ve never been there before.”
Stay present in your own journey, even while you keep the flame for your soul’s true north.
Note: I have been in a creative rut, and today words just flowed, and the most bizarre story made its way to my head, and I shall write and have yet another complete manuscript soon.
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