Tranquility

So much time spent in avoidance of a stale silence, that even I would not have predicted back then that one day I would be trying to illicit one of those overly long quiets to be a conversation-killer. After the wedding, I kept telling her. After the wedding, I thought, that's when I can fade to black like she's half-wanted me to for so long.

The other half is our unspeakable portion that no society would allow. I find that this is the side I reside in and the side to which I cater. Hers and mine, it is our pitch-black jubilant nightmare in which all horrors we withhold are utterly real.

Mine is a place of darkness where she is no longer allowed to dwell. Though she is welcome enough, she has forbidden herself. Thus as we teeter on the edge of a real conversation, I speak only of nothings and turn her to face the other way. Our chatter dies and she shows no remorse. For this I hate us both, for though I shall always be perfectly and unflinchingly in love with her darkness, her light holds me in no captivation.

I try to expand my consciousness beyond the walls of a small room and cannot; there are nothing and no one out there to free my thoughts.

I feel my heart beating strongly in my chest. I hear it tapping out each step as it marches toward its death. I feel the second half of my soul -- a portion given freely -- slowly flowing back into me. It is a portion that I had hoped never to see returned.

I am unloved again at long last.