twitchcraft galore

I think one of the most beautiful things in the world is that poetic, passionate love for another person. The kind that leaves you breathless, exhaling your very essence so that it might envelop that person in everything good and warm and satisfying. The kind that leaves you tingling at just the thought of that person, their voice, their touch, their mind.

Yet here I sit, slightly numb, wondering if I have already exhausted my ability to love someone like this. At the moment, I am unsure that I will ever be able to give myself to someone with such reckless abandon again. Maybe that is a good thing, though. Maybe that is what I need to learn to balance; how much of myself to give to someone.

Though I have tried to guard myself, my heart, I find it exceedingly difficult. Even my astrologer, who is very adept at reading my chart, has told me: “Your astrology suggests that the protective structures and boundaries that normally envelop the emotions seem to be absent.” I wonder why this is, that I should be so wholly open to those around me. Vulnerable, beseeching, accepting without much skepticism.

……………………………………………………..

The chill of the air presses its soft lips against my skin, whispering its grievances straight through to my bones. I sit in a slight haze. Unmoving, mind lazily wandering through foggy fields of feelings and questions. My cat’s soft, sleepy breathing is barely noticeable in the darkness of the room.

My eyelids close, jaw tightened in a never-ending clench. My body longs for the warmth and company of another, but I know that if one were present, I would feel suffocated. The familiar electric shock sensation zings through the left side of my head. Fatigue overtakes me and I drift into sleep, my night filled with dreams of being close and comfortable with people I have uncertain feelings toward.

I don’t remember the last time I slept.
I don’t remember the last time I was awake.
I don’t remember what it is like to do something without willing the energy into my body to make it happen.

I don’t remember the last time my eyes were open.
I don’t remember the last time I didn’t dreamwalk.
I don’t remember what it feels like to breathe. I don’t know that I ever have.

I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t thirsty.
I don’t remember the last time my head-wasn’t-buzzing.
I don’t remember what it feels like to not be falling. Infinitely.

As I look into the mirror I try to recognize the woman looking back at me. She is older. She is tired. She is eating the ether and drinking the air, that which my fingertips reach for. Trembling. I close my eyes, seeking her from within. Calling her strength, begging her resolve, beseeching her wisdom. Cradling her pain and gasping. Gasping for the breath that surely will come, surely will renew, surely will let me sleep.

she heeds the flow,
and all she knows
is diving, diving, dancing
deeper into the thrum
of the naiad’s
hummm-hummm-hummm…