And so glad to be able to finally feel safe to make such a "self-absorbed" post again, for nobody but myself.

So I was posting here back then, but wouldn't dare share with such ruthless enemies afoot. Honesty was only a weakness. Soul-bearing- a mere vehicle to one's own demise.

I was deep in mourning then. I couldn't show it here. I endured, tried to be a soldier. I played my part well, like a guy told he was going to be slapped and just pretend it won't hurt your career.

In the daytime, she would drown me with a love so sincere and tender that at first it startled me. She was taking care of me, nursing me. So young, how did she even know, much less know what to do more than anyone else? All my shaky beliefs about young girls proven true, delivered with a natural ease like I had never known before. She didn't really know details, and yet she didn't need to know them.

I soaked up her gentle healings like a dry sponge, desperate for moisture, trying hard not to let on how dire her help really was to me. A hug with a coo when I'd express sentiment. A concerned forlorn massage of my throat when the words just couldn't come to me. Outsiders would have laughed at a young, naive misunderstanding of how expressions dare to formulate, but she wasn't doing it wrong at all. She was doing it exactly right.

Late in the evenings, I would venture off alone, to sit on a truly deserted beach in the moonlight to be with my thoughts, exactly where the modest bonfires from years earlier had imprinted upon me fond memories of friendship, love, self-discovery, and hints at human understanding.

The waves that summer, how they rolled so softly and lovingly over me and my grief. I felt awash in what matters-- things that are true and which never die, day or night.





• ( https link ) keep them rolling.
[Anonymouse]