The Scene

Two lovers, laying in bed, spooning. Room is pitch black, but if you could see there would be thin white traces of tears already spent traced down the sides of their faces. Voices are husky with emotion and exhaustion. Pain and love are nearly palpable in the air.

Her whispering: I love you.

Him: I love you too, dear. Very much so.

Her whispering: I’m sorry.

Him: I know you are. And I am so very sorry that we are here. But if you can believe that we are the one thing that will hold together longer than anything else, this will pass.

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We are on the final leg of the journey back to the land of the living. He’s helping me swallow the irrational desire for vengeance and reciprocated pain, shown me that He is dedicated to us, and He has been more reasonable and understanding than any other person I have ever known. Many times my lashing out, a protection meant to shield my aching and terrified self, was aimed at Him only because He was there, not because He earned it, and yet He stayed by me, soothed me, deflected the anger and anguish with consistent love and devotion.

He has said that as much as I worship Him, He worships that I  give Him all of my service and devotion.

He has said that our foundation is unable to be breached, and as long as I have faith in that, nothing can do damage to us. I may be hurt (never on purpose, but shit happens and we are all just human), but it will never be permanent, it will never ruin us. If I can learn to believe that we will only grow stronger and closer through hardships, through unrest, through pain, then those things won’t hurt me as much, won’t linger, won’t cause festering sores on my psyche. When you live in a concrete house, what’s a little rain?

I want to believe. So desperately.

I need to believe.

How do you take that step out over the abyss, even when everyone tells you the safety net is only four feet from the drop, but your heart is screaming you’ll fall to your death?

Just one step.

I can do this. I can do this for Him.

I will do this for me.

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He had an analogy that is aimed to explain why I need never worry that my one limit on Him will convince Him that He deserves someone better.

“It’s like I love storms…I find them exciting. So I go onto my property and do a raindance, to bring the storms. Only, I got a tornado instead, and it tore up my property bad. So I go about fixing it back up, not selling it. And I don’t do another raindance, because the risk of another tornado isn’t worth the little excitement of a storm.”

Kaya once wrote that having a limit, designed specifically to protect herself from her willingness to destroy herself to give her Owner something He desired,  made her feel like a failure, like she was less worthy of a Man who would set aside His desires to protect her.

I didn’t understand then. It seemed fairly logical that an Owner could define what He deems to acceptable risk, and who is the property to say He isn’t doing it right?

I understand now.

I am not failure, even if I can’t give Him that thunderstorm He finds exciting.

I am not an impediment to His happiness.

I am worth being cherished and loved.

I am worth being protected.

I am worthy of being His most prized property.

It does not make an Owner “less than” to realize that just because you can wrap your Ferrari around a tree doesn’t make it the smartest thing to do. In fact, it can definitely make you a damned irresponsible car Owner, and few people will want you driving their cars when they see how callous you treat your car.

“Because I can” should not automatically mean “Then I will”.

One thought on “The Scene

  1. Hi there, I ran into this site from mixx. It’s not blog post I would typically read, but I loved your perspective on it. Thanx for creating an article worth reading!

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