Love is one sky

And then, you find yourself in a relationship with another human being. Right after you ended your relationship with another human being who you’d shared your life with for half a decade. I wonder who got into my heart in the right way. I wonder if I had left it open for them to enter it, or if they just broke into it. Was my heart burglarized?  

I, sometimes, like to wonder and ponder about the word “relationship” and the feeling it brings me. Synesthetically speaking, the world has a weird color and sometimes it changes its hues. At first, it’s a mixture of yellow and gray, and then the yellow becomes pinkish.

I also see two chains intertwining. Moreover, I think a lot about that too. The idea of a chained relationship does not delight me in the least. Why, though, is it integrated in my core as such? It must have to do with what I’d seen growing up what a relationship should be like. Disastrous.

After being burglarized, so to say, by the person I showed the door to my heart, I accepted the conditions that came with it. I had always envisioned a partnership where the chains, if there had to be chains involved, as an energy of bright lights dancing and embracing each other. It could easily be separated, or knotted again; it was not a metal chain symbolizing prison.

The delicate dance of the light chains would also bring up naturally some aspects of each other’s individuality; loyalty would be the clue holding them together for the perfect rhythmic movements. The ideals should connect each other in perfect harmony.

Inside my skull an ocean of disappointments and letdowns, I expected my rhythmic dance partner would oblige to them as if his heart understood the language spoken by mine. It began complex and urgent, a downpour of feelings like trillions of shooting stars in the sky, even in broad daylight. Smiles and natural touches.

Phases are what compose life, aren’t they? The phase of secondary skies becoming the primary sky arrived strongly and the results could not have been worse. Freak, freak, freak. My skull needed to go to school [again].

For many other phases, the bird had flown freely in a critical secretive manner unfurling mechanisms that would reverse the shooting stars into fire. And there was a very specific target. The primary sky was not so interesting anymore.

Life is dimensional. There are so many different dimensions to be explored it is indelicate and inappropriate to limit a bird to finding new paths to fly. If only it was not as secretive as it had been. Maybe I’d join it. But I wasn’t a bird who could fly, so I stayed behind, watching.