Last year was indeed a horrible year. I'd been so confident and happy when I knew that I wasn't really alone in the world—when I knew that there was someone out there who loved me. So, when he left, I left.
It's taken a long time for me to come to terms with everything—an extremely long time for me to come to the realization that everything was going to be okay, and it's felt like an eternity since I last loved myself, but I'm finally back in that place. Good lord, it's nice. I feel so much more like myself than I ever did before this all happened to me (if you're wondering what I'm talking about, see the second post that I ever wrote in this blog). I mean...I see myself, you know? I feel like—before any of this happened—I didn't know anything about who I was or what I stood for...make that what I stand for. Like...I didn't even know the simplest things about myself. It was crazy.
I'm not trying to say that I know everything about myself now, because, no, that will be a lifelong process, but I know the things that are the most important, I think, anyway.
For example, I understand that peace is really important to me in all aspects of the word. Inner peace, outer peace, transcendental peace....I want it and need it more than anything. I don't particularly like my life to be like the roaring waves of the ocean, you see. I just don't like it.
I don't like my life to be as cold as the ocean, either.
When I was with my last boyfriend—also known as the one who started all of this—we would compare each other to certain things. He...his soul was like the ocean. Deep and mysterious. I thought that was beautiful, but I neglected to see that a deep, dark, ocean, not only contains mysteries, but it also contains a frigidity that I wanted to refuse to notice. It was, in its own way, freezing, and it was also tumultuous. I had thought that I was looking out on an ocean smooth as glass that only needed my footsteps across its surface to wake it to life, but no...it didn't...and it wasn't.
What I was really looking at was an ocean whose surface and interior was so disturbed by its past waves that it was only waiting to swallow me up. Not embrace me like a mother to its breast.
☆ ⋆☆ ⋆☆ ⋆☆
He would call me his fire...and his stars. He would tell me how his soul was so warmed by mine—how he felt complete when he talked to me, and how we were somehow linked across the distance that separated us.
I believed it, because, I do feel like a raging fire, and, if you take those online quizzes that ask you what element you feel in tune with, I would always select the fire bubble. Not to be cool, but because it's true.
Most people don't know much about me, but I'll tell you just a little secret that a lot of people...well...actually, no one knows this one...anyway, a secret that no one knows. I like fire—I indeed love it—but I rarely light fires. No candles, no fireplaces, no campfires or bonfires, and this is because I don't need a fire when I have one burning so brightly inside me. Lighting a fire always reminds me of what I have within me that I can barely control anyway. Why would I want it on the outside, as well?
Now, there is no proof that there is a soul. There is no proof that anyone has a soul, or for what it is made out of, but I have felt for a long time that mine sits in the middle of my chest between my lungs, and it burns like fire. It's where I feel all of my emotions. Sometimes it smolders. Sometimes it's almost burnt out. But, when I am truly myself, it burns brightly, and beautifully, and can be slightly scary to look upon.
So, when he told me he thought of my soul as a bright burning fire, it felt like somebody had finally seen me.
Incidentally, these comparisons were the way he began the ending of the relationship that almost ended me. He told me that fire and water can't mix. I believe that I've told you all that once before on this blog, so I'll hope you'll bear with me. Anyway, I told him that fire and water make steam when mixed together, and I could've been right had he not poured his water all over my fire and extinguished me.
I'm one of those people who believes that opposites attract so as to complete a whole. Even after all the hell I've lived through over the last year and a few days, I still believe this.
A lot of people would call me crazy, but I still want to fall in love with an ocean. An ocean to cool my fire. Don't play me as stupid, though. I don't want the same ocean—that would be ridiculously stupid—I just want the one I'd thought I'd had.
A smooth ocean whose inside may be in turmoil, but not one whose killing waves are hidden by mist like the last's was.
I can handle inner turmoil. I understand that. I am a fire, after all. I just want that cool ocean to come up and embrace me so that I can smolder instead of burn, and so that he can be warm instead of cold.
On another thought...I might just want somebody whose soul is like the stars.
This Has Been,
~A Little Lonely Wisdom
"A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart." ~William Shakespeare
