you start with getting by, then good days and bad days, more weeks, more time and you almost forget about her feeling, like honey.
until you do.
it's strange but they never bring rescue in those achingly desolate moments and days upon days of crushing agony. they only arrive knocking in forceful waves once you've unmistakably immersed yourself back into violent forests with beasts of blood and wild man as your guide. and then you don't have time to be slowed down by excess and charm, face painted, heart savage again. there's play-acting in every ceremony but at the core is a straightforward truth, a heart of the matter; that it's invigorating to be in discovery at full stride, haunting ghosts instead, travelling in synchronicity with animal spirit and hunt and moment.
but for you sappy folks thinking, feeling, romantic connection is your guide, machete clearing your way through weeds, discovery of path, i offer you this:
on public radio there was a piece, i caught the tail end, about a runner, he was in terrible pain, damaged health for awhile but getting better and better, finally convinced by his woman to give up on the pain medication, sure enough, he turned out fine and thankful and running again and he stubbornly conceded everything to her and she said:
i didn't have any other choice because i love you.
