Beyond the last last line of defense... past the places that you hold sacred... and at the edge of reason, lies a boundary which you dare me to cross. You entice, and cajole, and plead with me to step over that line. And yet you say nothing. It is all unwritten except on your heart, and deep in your eyes. Away from public consumption. But the signs are there for one who knows that path.
It is well worn with only my steps. And yet each trip I take there is unique. Each journey requires its own dance, with steps that are similar, but not quite the same from the last. At the heart of the matter is a emotion that is simple and pure. Trust. It is a simple helix with infinite variety. A genetic code all its own that wraps its way forward and back in time... pulling history and mingling it with possibility into something that is new. It is an emotion that is as solid as smoke, difficult to grasp, and impossible to regain once it has dissipated.
But once there... once the invasion has begun... it devolves into naked fury, hand to hand combat, where both sides sweat, and both sides struggle, and both sides die a little death.
And once the battle is over... and we lay there, spent... the lines resolve again into north and south, and we stare at each across the parallel and await the next battle.
On Becoming My Grandmother
1 month ago