Love conquers all - it conquers you before you embrace it
I am standing alone in the face of fire. I can describe to you what it looks like as it blazes, as it burns. The flames are a plethora of oranges, yellows, burnt sienna, and in the center it is white hot. I know standing in the heat I can feel every lick of the flame, but yet I am not sweating nor perishing. I am doing nothing but standing in the midst of the metaphorical flames. I expect to be consumed, but I am not. I am just left standing, immobile, but alive.
I've made a myriad of mistakes in this life, and I know I will make more. Mistakes that were made in youth when you don't realize the importance of knowing who you are. Not knowing who you are can kill the ideals of someone else. I stand here in the silence, and begin to wonder where it all began. The end, no, I stare up the road and can't see that yet. The past, it is too much in my present to consider it the past. Every past mistake or past thought comes up again like a yield sign on this winding road. Stalling and yielding too much to what you used to be does not propel you forward. In order for anything, anyone, any thought, any idea, to survive, it must move forward.
Moving forward in a long standing relationship is hard, especially when you have been stuck in the same aura, same uncomplicated, static, stagnate mass for the past 20 years. It takes a catalyst, or a catechism of life to force you to jump off the road of the same old thing and try to be different. That is where I find myself. My husband cannot save me this time, not his words nor his love. I cannot save him this time, not my words or my love. We have held hands through everything, and although we are holding hands through this, we cannot feel each other's warmth, we can't hear each other's thoughts. Same journey, but yet we see and hear differently. The differences have brought us closer than ever, it is the similarities that were scary.
If you have listened to Godsmack's Turning to Stone, then you have the premise of this tale. I have pondered whether I want to tell this tale at all. And I try to ignore it, but as if it has a mind of its own, it says to me that it wants to be told. And it demands its voice be heard. Perhaps it will save someone or someone's someone.
Perhaps these sentences seem like they go nowhere, but they are fragments, fragments of thoughts that splinter into a bigger story. The story begins like most other stories, a girl meets a boy.... That is where the story begins, but their story is not all there is to tell. A girl meets a boy and it begins a supernatural fight, a cataclysmic start to the end of everything and the beginning of something else.
This begins the tale of the beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning. A girl meets a boy...