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Brida Kuhs

October 29, 2012

Losing You

I could never get that man out of my mind. He was many things. A criminal, an artist, a Gemini. Mine. To me, he was the whole damn world.

I felt so alive the day that I found him. I’d been searching for that exact feeling, whiskey didn’t do it, no, cocaine didn’t do it. He did. He was euphoria. A rainbow mix, fizzing on metal. He was my exhalation of everything I hated about myself.

And I knew him innately from the first moment, I knew the way he moved, the nuances of his character, the strength of his hands and the smell of his skin. He could hold me with his eyes, resurrect me with his presence, deliver me from my sins with all of his, and God, he had them.

I loved them all.

All my life I had prepared for him. There was never a doubt that I would find him. In the past I had met candidates for his role, but they were just projections of my desperation for him. I hungered for him and nothing could satisfy me, I burned my life into the ground, I decimated relationships, ravaged my body and wracked my soul screaming for him in the dark because I couldn’t see, I couldn’t be complete.

And then he just was, and I sighed, and my skin warmed and my eyes felt like dew. He was beauty. His hands had taken life, his breath had given me mine.

Peace.

Every conversation I had ever had in my life felt like practice for the ones we would have together. He was a powerful, passionate wordsmith, his conviction enflamed me, love dripped from his tongue to quench me and I drank his sorrows and desires every hour, every day, until he was me, and I was him.

In everything I did, he was with me. I felt him inside me, he was my bones, my heart was his champion and I fought for him. My teeth grew sharp and my nerves grew steady, I was no longer afraid, if I could barely stand, I would have stood up for him, I would have killed for him.

If he ever left me, I would have left myself to rot.

Sometimes we didn’t even speak. We just existed together in the same place at the same time, at last, finally, in a moment that no-one else was having, that no-one else was a part of. They were never a part of it.

The first time I saw him, it was the end for me, the end of anything that could hurt or please, or rival in my senses. He woke me up, threw me into motion, became my senses themselves. I saw him through glass, and it was the closest we would ever be.

In so many ways I died for him. There were times I could have saved myself but I was finding God in his jawline. We were a pair of sloe eyed geniuses, masters of our reality. Our connection gave us access to other worlds, worlds where we would come together in our dreams and our bodies would meet like grease on tin with desperation and our words would flow freely without speech in an electrifying transfer of energy.

He would draw me in many ways, the ways he saw me. I was his angel and his downfall. He saw me as glowing, and I glowed. He saw me as beautiful, and I was. He was rainy afternoons and summer evenings, he was damp hair and soft skin, he was all mouth and eyes and intensity. I saw the world for both of us, and I smiled in it’s face, for why would I not.

His voice was always there with me, not a world away waiting to die. I spoke softly to him because nobody had done so in years. We were two nobodies from nowhere with a single chord of feeling stretched across the world. I imagined it, our personal frequency level, winding through streets of people working and fighting and drinking under neon lights. All of their frequencies buzzed to me, they were electric yellow and sparkling. Ours was a soft calm glow above their heads.

In a sense, I loved him simply. It was not bound by condition, convention, or even reason; it just was, and I could do nothing to stop it.

For years, our love waged a dangerous war on the world. I was being eaten alive by a passion that made the touch of anything but his skin so unsatisfactory that it was almost completely pointless. I wanted to become him, to melt into him and live within his sinuous frame, to be permanently engulfed in him with no foreign interference. But as with any war, there is tragedy on both sides, it is unavoidable, destruction breeds destruction, and I had broken down every boundary I had ever known.

He was no longer there. And I felt as though a limb had been unceremoniously hacked from my body, as though huge chunks of my internal make up had been ripped free, and the essence of me had been left to survive in their lack. I was living without a part of myself.

And it was worse than before. Because I had seen him. I had known him. And I had lost him.

I knew completion. It was almost more than my senses could bear. It was the most beautiful ascension that a human could make from within their bodily confines, and it destroyed me. Every day, I cry for him. I have lost everything of myself but the part that holds on to him, the part that sees him in my dreams, smells him on my flesh and hears his voice from the mouths of others, carrying his presence foreward because their own means nothing.

For you fell away from me so long ago, but I am still losing you every day.

 

Brida Kuhs is a traveling writer, musician and Aquarius. She enjoys the company of wolf like dogs, opposes the death penalty and is wearing the shoes that you threw out last week. Brida Kuhs’ first full length novel “Out of my Brainhole” is available now.

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