Anthology Of A HERetic

I have loved you

I still remember —with both a quarter of ache and pleasure for the rest— the day that I first met your soul. 

It was not a pleasant day. I hated the rain, and the mud, and the stench of its scent far longer than I could recall. Overall, I just hated getting wet. The slippery feeling of water droplets sliding down one's body like a snake on a tree —it was disgusting so to say.

But from the unpleasantness of this damp wicked day, I saw you.

I still see you there. Hair sticking on your face as the strands gets soaked in rain. Your dress, torn and worn, molded your thin body like second skin. Bare feet peeking out of the tattered hem. In one arm you cradle your slippers, the other you held out welcoming the downpour. A smile on your sunken face.

It was, by far in this long life of mine, the stupidest thing I ever saw. I remember thinking how could a lowlife, country girl basked around the rain when the plague spreads? People struggle for life while she gives hers to the element. Foolish girl!

And yet, intriguing just the same. I recall approaching you and watching your smile disappear, replaced by surprise then wariness. Looking around for something to protect you from this stranger who came out of nowhere. Little did we know, nothing could have protected us from this.

The pull towards us magnifies each fateful meeting after that soaked day. As if every time we part, some divinity pulls us back. I remember fearing the feeling. I remember you confessing the same. I remember countless nights of tossing and turning contemplating if the Gods are already playing their cards on me. But why you? You're an innocent. An unblemished miracle in this world full of sin. I couldn't think of the reason why the Gods, in their never-ending wisdom, would send you my way like a sun ray peeking from the dark clouds on a rainy day.

And I have loved you on that rainy day.

It was not a pleasant day. But for you it was for you have longed for the water to get through another drought.

I hated the rain, and the mud, and the stench of its scent far longer than I could recall. You liked the rain as it reminds you of hope; the mud as it represents a fertile land; the scent as it envelops you whole.

Overall, I just hated getting wet. The slippery feeling of water droplets sliding down one's body like a snake on a tree. You embraced it like a cleansing of soul, of body, and of mind through the water.

That day you told me you were dancing for the Gods offering your gratitude, but I swear you were dancing for me, and I know that the Gods would agree. People struggle for more while you were thankful for what you have. How foolish have I been?

You reminded me of what it is like to hope for the tomorrow. You showed me how to live well. You made me longed for things I have long since buried along with the remains of who I was. You returned the life from this shell of a man I have become. You loved me. Me, the one who hated the rain. 

You taught me love, and I also learned pain.

That year the winter came harsher than any I could remember. The wind howled like wolves in mourning. The water froze and the plague increased. There was no drop of water just snow falling down and piling up making it harder for any wintry plant to grow. As the snow inched higher your hope diminished. Along with the cold my hope froze, only for the frozen parts to be shattered.

I have loved you that winter when you went away.  

Silently, death took you from me. In one arm I cradled your cold body; the body I have sworn to protect; the body I have known to love; the body that remains as your soul travelled away. In the other arm I caressed your face; the face I have grown accustomed to; the face I longed to see as the day ends; the face I will always remember.