A Strangling Winter

Other things
When the sand turns to glass, and all that's left is the past, I will love you still.
Other things
Take from me my disbelief
I know it should come easily
But it remains inside of me
It battles and devours me
It cuddles up beside of me
In whispers, it convinces me
Other things
Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken.
Other things
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. And then the moment was gone.
Other things
If love's a word that you say Then say it, I will listen.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Friends and Family Friday #1 -- Ethan
"A therapist once told me that we're born alone and we die alone. It's not true. We all have an extended family, people whom we recognize as our own as soon as we see them. The people closest to me have always been marked by a peculiar difference in their makeup. They are the walking wounded..." -- James Lee Burke, American Author

While the above quote applies to me and the majority of people I hold dear, there is one notable exception: My boyfriend Ethan.

He is the antithesis of the walking wounded, with tranquil blue eyes and an easy smile that spreads across his lips at the slightest provocation. While the darkness has invaded my life, hugged me close to its bosom, and changed me in ways I can't begin to define, it has barely touched the fringes of his life. He is eternally light, foolishly optimistic, the owner of a laugh so constant I'd swear I hear it echo in my dreams.

It is difficult for him to identify with my pain. The torment that has touched my life throughout the years is foreign to him, written across my heart in a language he is unable to understand. Yet while he cannot translate that pain into something palpable, he is one of the few people consistently able to drive it away.

In a journal entry written over four years ago, I described the following event:

I called Ethan last night while droving home from a friend's house, with the rain pounding at my windshield and making it impossible to see. The roads were unfamiliar and further obscured by the storm that raged outside. By the time he answered the phone I was nearly hysterical, a note of terror echoing in my greeting. His voice was a beacon of light, steadying me, guiding me to safety. He talked me through my fear and, by the time I'd made it halfway home, I was calmer, less skittish, stronger.

In my melancholy moments, I've considered that a metaphor for our relationship. I am the stormcloud and he is the silver lining. I am the darkness and he is the light. He may not be able to understand the pain, but he is always able to help me through it.

I can't help but wonder if the darkness has an effect on the light, dimming it with its opaque touch. I hope not. I never want to change him, my bright, innocent, happy boy. The strong man that I have loved for the past six years, and maybe even before that. When I chose the name "Ethan" to represent him in the blog world, I'd forgotten that it meant "strong" and "firm." It fits him perfectly.

Ethan. My Ethan.

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posted by Aurelie @ 11:59 PM  
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