We are all a part of some purpose. Mine tonight is to face the truth: I have not lost control, it was never mine.
It only takes one scalding burn to leave a lasting scar, just one clean break, one violent crash, one jolt to a system otherwise undisturbed. There is left a rosy raised area of tissue for fingers to trace and to trip the subconscious into recollection - the way it all unfolded and the immensity of its pain.
I gave all of myself to an undeserving thing. I fed the machine, and it swallowed me, blindly like quarters down the blackness of a vending slot. From here, I can look back and see the true worth of the endeavor. While I grew, I suffered. While I healed, I also scarred.
I said I'd never love again, not because opportunity was lost, but because the thought of breaking [again] sent chills of terror through my veins. I reasoned with the notion that whomever said it was better to love and lose, was full of shit or had never in fact loved, much less lost. I told myself to keep distant. I reminded the healing heart to wall in itself, to remain too weak to become breakable. We needed to sustain and protect, not to improve or strengthen.
I totaled a car once after hitting gravel at 70 mph, over-correcting into a spin then launching said car into an airborne dive, and finally landing in a ditch. It was well over a year before I was comfortable again. Every inch closer to the outer line of road increased my heart rate exponentially. The association of car and wreck was overwhelming, as was the lasting fear of a crumpled demise met beneath a tangle of charcoal Camry.
Just as wrecks become brazen reminders of the road, a heart's past can leave one discomposed as nature coaxes a gift of self and history sounds the roar of a shattering loss. I am pushed and pulled more so presently.
He was altogether unintentional, not a part of the [failed] single-for-a-year campaign. He wasn't what I was looking for at the time [he was more]. He was in The Army, one of those characters that totes guns in CNN footage [a bit frightening for my plans].
"...if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans." There was surely laughter.
I think the first date was afforded by The Universe, each of the tiniest details aligning with the perfection of fated stars. He was breathtaking, literally. As long as I'm able to tell the tale, I'll swear I almost fell from my seat when he turned the corner. Over the next months he awakened the numb and hesitant parts of me. He hushed my unspoken fears with an honesty in his eyes and a genuine sense of self. I couldn't help falling in love.
"A big heart is both a chunky and a delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through."
Certain forces have led me here and have made me very aware of the vulnerable visibility of my soul. I've set my heart waaaaaay out on the edge. I've long since given it fully to him. Recently I've begun dreaming little shorts that shake me into panic, and yesterday, a morning spent extraordinarily, summoned a nauseating and morbid thought. I fear not only the remaining scars of loss, but new more violent and substantial ones. It isn't him so much that scares me, but the beast of war. She is something for which I never readied and with my tiny hands, I could never tame.
The Army is something removed from negotiation. He will leave. He will leave when The Army says. Schedules will be rescheduled. Wars will invite him and he will attend. I've started trying to control the parts of my life that I can [because of the parts that I absolutely cannot]. The compulsive need to do so is reminiscent of days I'd like to avoid repeating.
Training is a reminder to me of their purpose, in the same way that tires nearing the road's edge used to make me instinctively hold my breath. I am frustrated with my inabilities to find comfort in the ride, but hopeful nonetheless that it will come back to me. Each time I look in his eyes and feel my heart spill over, the more aware I am of what's at stake. I've never been good with the gamble of relationships, yet I bet like I can predict unwavering success. It is true that you can only lose what you put on the table, but I imagine winning the full pot. I have no way of scripting the other players. I have no way to treat the war animal so that she learns to sit and stay. He may always lust for the scenery of my nightmares, and I can't change that either.
...it was never mine.