by D. M. Burns
It’s true, a Lone Walker will only love one soul. Their matching mate. A paired entity for eternity. No other will ever fill the gap or mortar the cracks of our sanctuary surrounding the soul once you’ve had a taste of that all-consuming wonder. And for that, I’m fucking thankful.
One infinite kick to the dick is enough. Twirling the crystal glass around my fingertips, I watch the smokey liquid with unfocused attention. I know I’ll never be the same. Hell, I don’t even want to be.
I can still feel the faint memory of her hair between my fingertips. Smell the whispering scent of her strawberry shampoo and imagine the selected lotion flavor of each day. The sweet southern drawl of a distant butterfly echoes inside of my head on repeat. It’s a maddening repetitious daily routine of racing thoughts and sleepless nights filled with everything her, memories of her.
Reclining back, I lift the glass of Southern Comfort to my lips letting the liquid coat my throat. In nothing more than a pair of black sleep sweats and glass in hand, I stare out into the oasis. No sleep again and I’ve found myself here in her tropical butterfly garden.
Even after she left, I continued to cultivate this space into a marvel of serenity. It’s seven thousand square feet of botanical beauty and when it rains the sound that taps out against the stained colored panes is that of a thousand tiny reminders that she’s nowhere to be found.
My eyes focus on the familiar fountains and lazy flowing waterfall that’s all still awaiting butterflies to complete the void before me. Just one of many voids. Finding comfort in this remote area is a desperate attempt but oddly enough it’s exactly that, temporarily soothing. It’s beautiful but much like me, it houses a false sense of life.
Maybe that lovely flying little entity set free to roam anywhere with such splendor will suddenly reappear and mystify me. Rebirthing this man from a death sentence that’s slowly taking place inside my soul.
The funny thing about all of this is that I ping-pong back and forth with anger, unlike anything I’ve ever known. Coupled with moments like this that feel unbearable from one moment to the next without her by my side.
Sadly enough, I welcome the hate to win out and sever the love. It’s a diabolical weakness unwanted. With every day that slips by, I feel that hateful emotion growing. I hope it sculpts a new beast out of me too. An impenetrable wall of skin with no accessible cracks that’ll allow anyone to slip in. A one-time lapse in judgment, but never again.
When I catch a glimpse of two large white wings fluttering in flight, I chuckle low. This little guy is the only butterfly to be found in this sanctuary. This flying work of art was left behind too. The same as me. It’s like we’re both anxiously waiting for her to return to us.
A sleepless fact-finding journey had me reading up on these winged wonders a few months back. The butterfly is believed to be a deep and powerful representation of life. Many cultures associate the flying marvel with a symbol of resurrection. A sign of endurance, change, hope, and life. My eyes linger on its beauty as it lands on the main fountain.
Standing from the bench, I kill the remaining dark spirits swirling in my tumbler then send it soaring through the space. When it connects with the marble fountain, crystal flies out in multiple directions coming to rest in the structure that I plan to have bulldozed tomorrow. Those glossy white transparent little wings work at a fevered pace to avoid my rant. I hope for its sake that it finds another place to go, soon.
Time to take my wrath to the war room for a fitting release. Somewhere my anger can be put to good use. I smile a cold and heartless grin then turn and walk out.
A NEW Creed Creation is on the rise.
