She Called Me

She called me.

It was late afternoon/early evening

I was at home.

During that time, unbeknownst to myself, I had become dull.

Borderline depressed.

My soul longing for an anchor. 

The cyclone-like uprooting of the previous 3 years had left fractures, wounds and holes.

Some were healing

Others still bleeding, 3 years later

Others gaping open. Silently.

Looking like the mouth of a tunnel before a speeding train comes rushing through

Leaving behind smoke. Noise. Vibrations.

Where there were roots once

Was a desolate field of unrequited love

Torn dreams, unfulfilled desires and an unhinged soul.

Remnants of a battle field

Of love won. And lost.

She called me

That late afternoon.

She was crying. And I sat to listen.

My battlefield blacked out from my mind

Gaping holes, fractures, aches, pains and longings forgotten

I listened.

She cried for love. Longing

The winds that wrecked havoc in my life

Had swung suddenly. Violently. Intentionally targeting her.

The rain had already started

And while she loved to dance in the rain

She could not

Not with this rain.
She knew. This rain will burn, acid.

When the first wisps of the wind touched her skin

She called me.

And we cried

Her in the pain of now.
I cried for all I had left and lost in the battlefield.

She cried for belonging
I cried for re-membering

She cried for understanding
I longed for memories

Our susceptible naïve souls knew what it was to know love.

We cried for love.

Love {ukn}won.

Love lost

At the end of the conversation she said,

My back is wet. From the dew I have been lying on.
I had forgotten how beautiful grass smells

When warmed by the body

I have forgotten

What it is like, not to be in battle.

Maybe I will call her.

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