Sept 17 |

September 17, 2012

I never loved you but I always wanted to.

We could be greater than we are, together. But not here. Here we seek true love. Passionate,  Eros-swept, hands-off destiny. There we could love later. Or on the side. Together we could command legions and history in order to keep each other safe. To keep our people safe. Maybe even guard them against something we truly believed in. Maybe we could keep our families safe for a few campaigns longer. But here, here is for love paramount. There, in that life, our dynamism would not be wasted.

In a life belonging to other people we could have been rulers to be hung. Rulers to be feared in a time only imagined by now, which possibly never even existed beyond the stories we’ve inherited. Except there are those big stones and pictures that have so far survived our cultures’ thousand bastard sons and daughters. Though they sought disruption and destruction, which only fools call Revolution, we still know what nests inside the great stones that our children did not pulverize. On the periphery of our memory there are hands of flesh touching the same stone I touch here, on pilgrimage. There was disease and blood and piss and spit, sweat and hair, and necessity. Pain and anger and wildness. Wind and muscles. Beyond what I am able to remember there’s a notion of time. Our people hurried. All people hurry. The same husks of hearts, the same eternal bewilderment at the impermanence of birth tempered by the same light inside one’s temples: a nuzzle, an embrace of a god whose only delight is in you and your place in the world. Bones break, kingdoms splinter, knees creak and temperatures drop. Vision bursts, fades, swells, and the west wind always finds you on your knees, whether you ran and hid or you waited patiently.

Fortune favors the bold. I used to be brave. Now I have 2012 love. The empty place where it should live is tangled with wires. I flee to the ocean just to find more wires running upon its floors. I can’t close my eyes because I am alive and not dreaming. I can’t stop hearing stories, so I listen to them and love the ones that were born fighting for life. I’ve become a wielder of words and soft around the edges, a scribe who feels things and sees things and does very little.

See, the great part about you is that I know whether we cross then or now, I never loved you, though I am always so fond of you. I would have loved not loving you and claimed a greater stretch of sovereignty. I would have loved you as far as I could for as long as I lived and held you as high as any arrow-driven love of mine, perhaps higher. What is true love next to your kingdom and your country? But here, now, I can’t love not loving you. Here, you’re an uncomfortable friend whose arm I once took and whose loyalty I once claimed.

Through dust, wind and all the stars and land which moved us more than we ever move each other, I never loved you but I always wanted to.

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