The sound of bells filled the air when the midnight came to Wooden Falls. The hardened leaves were already falling, painting the ground around the trees they came from, making it look as if large portions of wood replaced the frozen grass.
Cold wind danced around the place, the entry to the garden where he planted and harvested his herbs. An already casted circle was around him, marked with salt and onyx stones, candles in the cardinal points.
The full moon was looking at his naked body, sitting in front of the altar he had built on the edge of the lake. The candles were burning, slowly, the melting wax creating new designs every second with the falling, tear-like drops.
A plate with salt at the north, three white feathers tied for the east, a red candle for the south and a shell with water in the west; pentacle at the center with a withered rose and above it, his picture, the face he had hated for a long time.
Images from the past came to him. The rock festival where they met, their first date at a Japanese restaurant, the parties they used to go to together, the days when they saw movies in one of their houses ... so many of them, now they would only live in his mind as the dreams he had always felt like.
His ears still remembered the sweet words he used to pronounce in those silent moments when nobody knew what to say, the jokes, the comforting phrases when he lost his job, when a best friend leaved, when anything went the wrong way. Always there beside him, but not as long as he should have been.
He was alone now, on his own, waiting for the day they would meet again in Summerland, the day he would see his face again and touch his hands one more time. That was the last photograph he had, the last connection with the guy he had loved so much.
With a soft whisper, he started to speak: "May the earth take your memory, the fire burn the pain, may the air heal the wounds and the water take them away. May spirit transform my sadness in joy again, as I know They have looked after me, and may They give me the peace I lost long ago."
Three tears were running down his cheeks, but he let them stay in there. This was their last goodbye; the last words he would ever say to him. "Make the past remain over, remain done, my present be these days and my future brighter than it may seem today."
He had already found someone else, a new opportunity, but the pain of bretaing him still hurt him deeply, preventing him from clearly see that he could move forward, turn the page and start a new chapter in his life.
Life was to short, and he had lost an entire solar wheel mourning the death of that relationship that had filled all of his dreams and more.
The unmistakable sound of rain reached his ears, the sound that his message had been accepted and received. He extinguished the candles, saying goodbye to each element, thanking the Gods, feeling much lighter heart. This night would be different. This night he wouldn't write anything in his arms with the edge of the razor.
Read the Spanish version in the external link!
YOU ARE READING
Red ink no moreSpiritual
He's in pain. He's trying to let go. He's been blaming his own skin. Soon, his arms will be free of red ink. *** I wrote this last year, but never truly found somewhere it could belong.