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An Angel's Deliverance

I am a vagabond adrift at sea, that all encompasing muse that refuses to relinquish both my freedom and my devotion. Others dream of the inability to plant roots and establish ties, waxing poetically about a freedom that stifles and secludes as much as it allows for an expansive, selfish life. This is what some covet, what I desire to an extent. There is no better catalyst for the severing of stunted friends or outgrown lovers than the harsh fact that you're leaving. However, when you meet somebody worthwhile, a muse that eases, placates, and ultimately erases your hurt, the so called blessing of unfettered living becomes a bane, a burden you no longer want to bear. She refreshes and quenches your zest for life and belief in something meaningful during the midnight dalliances you share, enfusing passion back into your heart by lifting the film of negativity corrupting your vision and allowing her glorious radiance to warm you. Do yourself a favor and stare into her sun. It won't blind you, I promise.

She will appear out of nowhere, transmuted from empty air. You will believe her to be a mirage, your perception clouded by the divinity of what you deem a coincidence. Her humming will beguile you, her singing will captivate you, and the slight, exotic lilt to her voice will engross you. The musicality of her breath as she sleeps, enveloped lovingly and securely in the fortress of your embrace will drive you to weeping. More powerful than a raging Wagnerian orchestration, as sensitive as the practiced bow of the violinist coaxing harmonious beauty from slumbering strings. You have no chance. Her reassurance, the lovingly airy quality her voice takes on as her tongue traces the forbidden whispers of the night, and her beautifully disheveled hair, tousled and led astray by the merging of two bodies as one, seal your fate. Her eyes lead you to ebullient utopia, and the rhythm of her beating heart is the far away pounding of the laborer as he pounds the final nails into the coffin of your rationality. Youre addicted, you know this. And you dont care.

She's heaven sent, really is. A brief respite from your loneliness, and a hell of a better companion. You'll take her to all of your old haunts, your escapes from the rigors of your career, your endless pursuit of your goals, your life itself. She fits right in with your personal reveries, to no great surprise of yours. You could sense it the moment you had your first conversation. Her sharp, grating wit, bonedry sense of sarcastic humor, and the calm assuredness she exuded drew you in like a tractor beam. She's the girl you crafted gradually over many arduous hours alone. You finely tuned her adorable peculiarities while lying in bed with another faceless random, your bodies still heated after another meaningless night of ungratifying, shallow sex. You pictured how her eyes would look in the maternal light of an awakening dawn. Would they sprinkle and glimmer almost imperceptibly as glittering flecks of light dripped into them hesitantly, like drops of water from a melting stalactite? Or would they become illuminated ferociously and infernally, greedily consuming every bit of the rising sun, her very soul rousing and coming to life, her eyes pure, crystalline windows into her blossoming, emerging soul? What would strike you most about her, robbing you of your breath and making your heart suddenly palpatate chaotically? Her crooked smile, the contemplation, quiet and resolute, that occupied her brow during moments of intense concentration, or the way her tongue always managed to snake its way between her teeth and poke out in nearly every photo she took, resting amusingly in the corner of her mouth? In reality, it was a satisfying mix of all three, plus innumerable other details that are too intuitive, intrinsic and unique to be quantified. You watch her invisibly, subtly commiting every facet of her to memory, begging some portion of her beauty to imprint on your listless, forlorn soul. In her eyes, you find long lost hope, in her kiss, a defiant, unconditional support and acceptance, and in her arms, remarkable, unobtainable peace.

You will hurt her. You know this, and she knows this. For once it's through no fault of your own. Time and experience have taught you empathy, selflessness, and abnegation. Your old enemy, change, is looming on the horizon. That horizon is beautiful, yes, beckoning you with the opportunity for new life, fresh beginnings, and unknown life. Youd be lying if you said the moment you got that news you were stricken with grief and malaise. Rather, you were invigorated, excited at the prospects to come. You will be bronzed by the tropical sun, baptized in the waters regarded as biblical by surfers the world over, and bathe in golden sands immortalized musically for the past 7 decades. Yet, you cant deny the heaviness encumbering your heart. It threatens to drag you into the murky depths of regret, depression, and maladorousness. Connection is a fickle being, with a horrible sense of timing and an ironic sense of humor. Why couldnt you have met HER in January instead of that accursed siren? Then again, if you hadnt crawled through that barren valley, if you hadnt been stricken with nearly fatal cynicism, your angel would never have descended and saved you from your own crippling stupidity. God always has His plan working in our lives, even when we don't notice. Thankfully, especially in my case, ignorance of His grace guiding the events that unfold will never mean exclusion from His blessings. And Ill be damned if she's not a blessing. Will my departure be painful for us both? Undoubtedly. Will it be unbearable? Presently, it would be very close, so I shudder to imagine the intensity that could be wrought in 5 months time. Will we survive? Of course. The depth of our unconventional relationship isnt defined by sex, drama or immaturity. Instead, it derives character and meaning from passion, understanding, and trust. We will always be close, even if fate wrenches us from each other prematurely. Besides, who knows what the future brings.

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