BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

35

Sunday, 06/10/1995

His chest rises and falls gently. He looks calm, so rested that I can't help but let that same soothing relief flood through me. 

It makes me feel safe that I ain't alone, he is here with me, for me. They make me feel safe, his steady breaths, breezing through his lungs over and over again, promising to never stop. 

I can count on him to keep breathing, can I? 

He's not at all fragile, rather flawlessly strong appearance deludes the observer perfectly. 

Watching him it seems highly unlikely for his existence to stop. For everything to cease to a halt. For him to be so easily defeated by his very own body. 

It's two-sided. 

Straight up logically I, of course, know that he in fact is incredibly vulnerable. Alone his breathing, a function of such vital importance, could become a dangerous deadly weakness. 

The impression of him being indestructible feeds my feelings towards him and my genuine will for him to be. 

I want him to be indestructible. 

Of course, I do. 

I want to believe that he is although he isn't. 

Not 'even' three minutes without air he'd survive. Three short minutes. A capped windpipe, collapsed lungs. 

Shaking my head I try to shove aside my thoughts. But somehow I stay caught up in it all.

With the thoughts nervousness crept up my back, spurring panic. 

Everyone is so easily volatile and fleeting. 

His breathing might promise me he lives at the moment. 

But it doesn't promise me he'll live prospectively. 

Prospectively it promises me that he'll die. 

Promises, promises, stupid promises no one wants. 

No one wants the kind of certainty that plants true horror into one's mind. I don't. I also don't want promises that make it clear to me that I'll never be able to rely on life. 

All I can do is stubbornly stick to pretending. In favour of my own well-being, which would get hopelessly shattered by the honesty if I'd let it hear the honest truth. I sincerely don't want to.

And as stubbornly, I want to insist on my stupid thoughts leaving my head, now. I miss the peace of earlier that tasted oh-so-sweet, too good to be destroyed like that.

I want to hold on, grasp and clench onto that calmness he radiates. Want to purposely, naively, believe that everything is fine. 

Because right now it is. Just fine. 

No effort needed, no illusory. 

. . .