Separation

“Fear is a spell.”

That’s what she told me the moment before the door got pulled by her leaking frustration. I knew she meant it to be something that would stick to my teeth for a while. Something to chew on.

Well, fine. Here I am with the cud firmly scoured and torn in my mouth: I’m a witch. So be it.

I am sitting by the kitchen window, watching the butterscotch sun pour over my coffee like honeyed milk. I want to drink it in and feel light. But how can I, when I know that everything is wrong?

I didn’t bother to pass the mirror this morning. I was so full of my wanting for her that I knew if I saw myself, all I’d hear was, “How can you have hope in a world such as this?”

I can’t bear one more thought.

She had come over like she always did. A burst of affection and life-fire. She must’ve gotten something out of being with me, otherwise why would she keep coming back?

I always thought we were a balance to each other. Yin and yang. Now I’m not so sure. I may be overwhelming.

Just hours ago, we were sprawled out on my bed. We were ready for a feast. Her creamy hands eagerly twisting at my dark silk sheets in anticipation.

Some blackness was dancing in my eyes. It often was, but this time I couldn’t keep it hidden from her scorching, searchlight eyes. She spotted me. And I was left the clueless criminal.

She placed a finger solidly on my temple and began to rub me there. “There’s no doom here, my love.” She sighed my sighs. “Only possibility.”

That word. She knew it was the one that would ring the church bells in my ears. Possibility. Possibility. The great spell-killer. “Just come right here, lay with me right here and you will feel the magic of which I speak.” An ancient trick to snap me back to where everything was perfect. The moment.

My shining star and all her wishes. She knew I couldn’t do really that.

She was always talking about creating. The latest painting, the newest friend, the growing excitement. I was stuffed on my envy of her joy. Yet she never belittled me for the lack of mine. She just smiled at me in a funny sort of way. Bemused. She gave herself to me all the same.

But that blackness. No. This time would be different.

There was something she wanted me to get. Something this whole time that I was utterly blind to. She knew I was afraid she was beginning to doubt me.

See, I was always talking about destroying. The latest government scheme, the crumbled social calls, the growing anxiety. I thought she understood, but suppose she didn’t? How could she, when she was so different?

When the shadow over us didn’t pass, no matter how many times I softly pleaded at her chest, she chose to remove herself from my manipulations. She said it wasn’t because she didn’t love me. It was because “some of the best transformations come when we look at our desire for separation.”

Did I want to be separated? No. Not from her. Not from the whole world. Yet here I am, away from them all, knowing that were it not for the sorcery upon my mind that I then imprinted upon the world, well....we’d all be a lot happier.

“I am my own undoing.” The most destabilizing thought. She wanted it to motivate me:

“You are also your only hope.”

Fine. Fine, sweet angel. Then why do you want to save me?