On Souls and Sol

mercury.

Love is a horrible thing.

Love is poison, blinding us from the faults and the flaws and the failures of our lives and of our loves. It hides from us the truths of reality and only lets through the light of false beauty and happiness, designed to keep us infatuated. Wanting for more. Of course, he knew this, and love brought him to ignore that one pimple on Her lower right cheek that never really seemed to go away. Or the way She would talk much too loudly in the cinema. Or the way She would chew with Her mouth open. Or how She refused to ask for help, no matter how much pain She was in. Love blinds.

Love is addiction. It gives us a sense of hope, and a sense of value within ourselves. It gives us a boost of hormones and ideas and faith that things can go wrong but you'll be alright. Everything will be alright. We fight and we fight to keep hold of this drug that fuels our every thought. Of course, he knew this, and love kept him coming back to Her when She went and threw out all of his record collection. Or when She rearranged his study room, even when She knew he preferred it as it was. Or when She spent that one night with a friend from Her psychology lecture to study but the texts he saw the day after made it clear something had been going on there. Or when She was too scared to tell him about the "complications", and the hole in Her heart left a hole in his heart. He always came back.

Love is pain. It wraps around the heart and grips it tightly, refusing to let go. Regardless of the situation, it will pull on your soul so you never forget the times when you knew the warmth of love. Of course, he knew this, and when they had their first fight the chain gripped so tightly he would stay up late at night and pull at his chest, trying to force out tears but all that he managed to get was a muffled sigh and the feeling of defeat. And when he found out She had been with another, the chain of love dragged him into the deepest trenches of insecurity and hatred, and longing for what he once had. And when he watched Her fade away slowly, love refused to leave with Her. It stayed behind to make sure he never spent a single moment without thinking about how much he needed it. How much he needed Her. 

___________________________________

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own
depth until the hour of separation."

-Khalil Gibran
___________________________________

On that day, there was something peculiar about the rain. It lacked the ferocity he was used to. He almost missed the sound of war brought by the falling bullets, adding some excitement to his life. No, today had brought with it a ceasefire. Ferocity meant nothing when it came to rain, you'd still get wet if you ventured outside. The only difference is how long it would take. A timid tap, tap, tap, on the window, not mimicking the sound of war but rather the sound of loneliness itself. Tapping, waiting to be acknowledged, waiting to soak you. He knew this sound well, but never on his window.

There comes a point in every person's life when they must ask themselves what they are doing on this planet. Even the tiny moonless Mercury followed an orbit, the issue was he had no trajectory. He had no sun to guide him into an orbit. The sun seemed to have given up on him since She had gone. Light was now a foreign concept, gravity even more so. His whole world revolved around Her, his heart bound to Hers and their souls both one.

He remembered the moments when he felt he could take on the whole world. Reminiscing was never a fun task, but he did it anyway, and from time to time he would almost chuckle at how ridiculous he used to be. Love is blinding. Love is addicting. Love is painful. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat until he understands. Before he met Her, his life was great. Not painted with the same shade of gold as when he was with Her, but it shined a spectacular silver. He had his friends, had his family, had his passions and his goals. He loved them and they loved him. She came and washed it all away, Her love drawing in all his desires. What good had love done for him? It had thrown him off course, hurtling alone towards the cold emptiness of space.

Space is a funny thing too. It was now that he began to realise how powerful perception really was. He still stayed in the same small apartment he had resided in for the last few years. The furniture remained in the same place, untouched. The only thing that was missing was Her, and yet the whole apartment felt empty. The walls echoed every movement, every sigh. Everything he touched was a reminder that something was missing. His world was incomplete, and what's the point of half a man when the other half was what drove the whole?

Isolation. This was what he knew. This was safe for him. To be alone and to be lonely are two very different things. He was alone, he was always alone, for he never let anyone get close enough to hurt him ever again. The only thing he had to keep him company was Her music and his thoughts and their portrait he began working on the summer before but never managed to get completed. All that was missing was Her ear, a nose and his smile. The only thing holding him back from completing the portrait was the fact that he had nothing to go off of for his smile.

He practiced too, standing in front of the mirror trying to replicate the most basic of facial expressions so that he could at least pass through society without constantly being questioned about how he was feeling and why he never came to the company dinners anymore. If he could just curl his lips enough, show the slightest bit of teeth, they would stop. He hated saying that everything is good, thanks, and that no, he isn't lonely. Which was true, for the most part. He was alone yes, but he was never lonely. He always had Her, in his heart. It's all he had left. It's the only reason he stayed behind while She drifted away, because he was the vessel of their memories. Without him there would be nothing left of 'them'.

It was still raining outside. Work started in two hours, so he would leave his bed in one to begin getting ready, but for the next hour he would appreciate the rain. The rhythm of nature, playing a beat that resonated through the chambers of his mind and pulled out old memories and the tears he had held back for longer than he had to. Perhaps it was peace, not war, that haunted him.