Apr 5, 2016

Under His Good Weight




Some days I have to start from the beginning. I rise from sleep as if emerging from under deep murky waters. I wait for my hazy vision to adjust, a good while before the muck dust and stains are wiped off my tired sad eyes and I can see again. A throbbing in my head, it is worse when it’s a cluster migraine, I can almost feel my whole face slope to one side, sliding towards the pain. My left eye, the left part of my lips even my nose is pulled to the right side of my face and is pulsing, my deformed face bloating and shrinking, bloating and shrinking with each agonizing beat. My heart is pressed under a massive heavy black boot that stomps and stomps hard, a dull slow THUMP, THUMP, THUMP that shakes my whole being and my limbs are achy and weak. Sadness leaves me soft and gooey as if there were no muscles, no bones in me.

On days like these I start from the beginning: Who am I? Why am I here? How old am I? Where did I come from? Why am I still alive? My dry chapped pale lips part and I want to say your name, as if your name will help me find myself, I remember that you don’t love me anymore and I swallow, I swallow all my burning hot grief, like a fireball stuck in my throat, then the tears come and my tears are hot too, etching their way down my cheeks like lava slithering down a mountain.

Many years have passed, why do I still hold on to you? Because (I hear a voice inside me say) out of all the men you desired, had and grew bored with, he was the only one who reflected all your colours, not only your reds, not only your blues but your whole rainbow, he was the prism that absorbed all your white light and let you shine through the other side a spectrum of every shade and hue. In his strong warm arms, under his good weight, every time he entered you, you were radiant and complete.