Give me something

Page 219 of the Satanic Verses, Salman Rushdie writes

” Her lips, cheeks, chin were heavily stained by the many different colours that had rubbed off the dying butterflies”

In this chapter a beautiful woman is eating butterflies and prior to their consumption she opens her mouth allowing them to escape, but they make no attempt to do so.

This imagery.

In my mind I believed it was because a beautiful creature did not wish to escape a beautiful death and that is exactly how I felt about him.

I don’t know why we need to break so hard, I don’t know why we willingly dive into things that we know will ultimately destroy us.

I didn’t want to turn away from the new widow, the grieving man that had no business entering into a relationship with me. I didn’t want to turn from the gentle, tender and vulnerable nature of his heart. It was open, because it was raw and it allowed me to seep through the barriers and settle in.

And even when his heart began to seal itself off I remained inside, not trapped, just unwilling to leave because of the beauty I found once I was there. My own survival, my own instincts I was willing to give up to drown in his depths as the walls closed in.

And although for a time I was able to tread in his muddy waters, the dam finally caved and the rubble from his past buried me, buried us.

For the longest time I expected him to rescue me from this new damaged façade. I expected him to begin removing bricks one at a time, to find me there…waiting for his heart’s open return and rebuild with me from a foundation that had weathered his emotional storm.

But he never did. In fact, he reinforced those bricks with new ones.

And I collapsed under the weight of his guilt and my disappointment, until I was an unrecognizable heap, barley a remnant of what once remained.

So I wrote this, for me…for him….for you whoever is reading this.

How beautiful it could be

If we trusted our own voices

of encouragement and support

of wisdom and kindness

to our most valued possession, our heart

How easily we nurture the broken wings

of another’s soul

whilst never thinking to patch our own

with mosaic words of love

so we too can soar above the crumpled remains

of relationships past.

~Christie Page



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