In the Scatter of Her Stars.
My love is not of this world, she thought.
Instead it was woven of a time so long ago and strings not yet formed. They were tied somewhere over the horizon’s edge, pulling like a silver thread tied to her heart.
She could hear the wordless strumming in her soul like a beacon in the distance ,and she often wondered where it was leading her.
What time was this love meant for, she silently wondered, staring off into the darkness. How could something so true beating in her spirit be so lost to her?
It seemed she had waited a thousand years to be looked at with eyes that were only born of true love. She would wait as long as it took, she knew. It was her way, to wait for the real.
What was time after all, just more days to love someone unknown until they met and found another once more.
She cut her teeth on love stories, the ones with the impossible women who were found and saved by equally impossible heroes. It always ended in a castle somewhere far away bathed in the afterglow of a love so true time itself could never touch it.
She used to think that those type of love stories were for the beautiful girls, the ones with the golden waves of ethereal gossamer floating around them.
The ones that were perfectly sophisticated with a pristine back story and laughter like a little silver bell. The ones that with a flip of their slender wrists played the type of games that held their audience’s attention positively captivated.
But for her? A small, dark spitfire? Would there be a great and timeless love for her?
Who would want to play in her flames and walk through fathomless depths when they could walk in the bright golden sunlight and waves of perfection? Who would see her intensity and passion for the fire that it was and not think of it as too much? Who would be brave enough to love her?
She was complicated in her simplicity, she knew this.
She was the type of girl who smelled of sandalwood and open fields after a long summer rain — intoxicating, fresh and simple to take in with a depth that seeped into the very soul. She didn’t need to be saved, only to be stood by and loved deeply while she saved herself.
Her heart bled poetry whose tomes were unread, none having the eyes to see the words written there. Yet there was a humor in her that danced freely, and oh how she loved to laugh.
She was at once a mystical journey into the heart of the earth and the calm found in the fading light of sunset.
She was like a moonless sky — dark, deep and eternal.
Upon her skin a blanket of stars was scattered, there to be traced by knowing fingers, but who would take the time to search those skies? She was naive and didn’t understand the games so many played, unversed and unknown in their tricky ways.
She longed to have a counterpart, and not merely be entertainment or distraction. She ached to be chosen but not by all, only by one.
She had to be swum so deeply to be understood at all, and so few had bothered to even dip in a toe.
Her mystery could never remain silent, this she knew. It always came out, refusing to be swallowed.
The truth always had a way of doing that. She could never silence the magic that flowed through her or the wild passions that coursed in her veins.
Better to be left for what she was than to be loved for a mask, she thought with a heavy heart.
She wondered sometimes as she stared into the dancing trees if there was anyone on this planet who felt this depth, this endless longing as she did. Perhaps they were on another planet.
Maybe that’s why she spent so much time searching the stars, looking for a sign of the light shining somewhere for her. Maybe she was looking for a home that she had not yet found.
To be this weird, this wild, with this much heart and this much soul — the joker, the priestess, the mystic and the lover.
It pained her sometimes. Who could dance with this passionate fire, ride the waves of this endless sea, laugh to the depths of their being and choose to embrace all of it openly knowing it was only the beginning?
He would smell of home, she decided, and his skin would feel as familiar as her own.
She didn’t need a mask of perfection, only his authenticity, with truth etched upon his brow and the glow of real love shining in his eyes. She didn’t want some unrealistic ideal, only the beating of his heart against hers and a smile etched on their lips.
He would drink her in like it was the most natural thing he had ever done, summoned from the core of his spirit like needing to satisfy an ancient thirst. Feeling the depth of the pull towards her, he would open his arms to her mystery, not turn and run.
Without taking a step, he would fall deep into the place that he was always meant to be, by the side of the girl who smelled of sandalwood and open fields after a long summer rain; intoxicating, fresh air that would fill his lungs all in one easy breath, with a depth that eased him and soothed him to the bottom of his soul.
He would be the type of man to get lost in the scatter of her stars and never tire of tracing her endless skies.
Perhaps all love stories didn’t need to be filled with impossible people to make a love true after all, she decided with a smile. Only true people making a love possible.