Swinging around in the Den there was my little self, coursing through the monkeys and money and giving a swing back with the pendulum of self doubt and denial. There was never favor for the money... the monkeys interested me more and yet they couldn't be sated for their flinging of poo and penchant for bananas didn't yield a returned interest in lil' ol' me.  So I fought the laws and the flaws won and the ridiculousness of outer self-righteousess and impetuous overbearing internal hatred took root in my ever-fragiling soul (yes, the act of becoming fragile is now a verb, sue me).

 

Noting the internal hatred and passing through it came the love I didn't kinow I would ever have, long lost and redelivered in a way that was tremendously impactful to my surroundings and even felt as though it bent my steely and unnecessary self condemnation from the very start. That bend became more severe, it narrowed the metal of my mettle against myself and dare I say it broke off in a hinged and undeserved denial of destruction. That light, that force, that fleck of undulating bliss that corrupted the purity of my dense anger against the person that was only trying to help... me... was a soul twin that dispaired at seeing itself in such turmoil as it had been in years past. It studied me, licked my wounds and that raised the awareness to other wounds I had never even looked at. I was battered from head to toe, mainly do to the lack of compliance in tending a single wound I'd ever had.

Torrents and waves of sadness ebbed out of me in a soul-wrenching, maniacal chemistry that mangled the horrific damage of what had never been repaired. These projections were acting as a salve to the untended and weeping sores that both literally and physically plagued my never-before-cared-for corpus maximus. There was a stinging and singing and healing keening that mourned and celebrated the death of the life I'd never lived while all the while- all that while. Welcoming the new life that I didn't know if I could live - just like anything I'd ever encountered - I would try with all that made me who I was to make this newness become like an old leather hat, comfortable and cozy and known. Twinkling inklings of hope would spark and as the newness did just what I was hoping, there were still puddles of quicksand that looked like carpeting. Sure, it might seem appealling to just wander over to that darker section of carpet but once your feet were on it it sucked you in whole, from stem to sternum and deeper still. I had to learn how to balance my footfalls to just those points that kept me close enough to that suckling sand that it was sated but that I wouldn't be worse for wear when I beheld my own status as the day drew to it's tendriled ends. The bathing in his tongue would have kept the need for that quicksand away entirely if it wasn't for the existance of that gloom, ever looming and gleaming with the rubies of death's possibility. I wouldn't be swallowed by death as long as he was there to share in the comingled caresses that we could only give to one another's souls in our chaotic, empassionately tormented breaths.

What I didn't realize was that in falling in love with him, my twin, my counterpart in so many ways - I had been falling in love with myself.