sisters of mercy, part two

heartbreak is difficult. i don’t know who first uttered or thought this, but i imagine it wasn’t shakespeare. it was probably a pre-human amoeba from the dawn of creation who felt it. separation and loneliness. of course, if you didn’t feel connected to someone or something the loneliness and heartache wouldn’t be there. you have to be connected, then disconnected, to truly feel alone. there needs to be context, however tentative or imaginary.

for me, i fall in love easily or maybe just find it easily. i don’t know if there is a definition of what “really in love” means. it is truly in the eye and pain and desire of the beholder. i for one fall in love as easily as falling asleep. and i am a good sleeper. it paused during my marriage. i was in love with my wife, my children; there wasn’t any need to fall anywhere else. but now, left to wander, i find myself falling into place, once again. and into love.

i have fallen in love twice in the last month. these mark my first two trips into the hole, since i first fell in love with my wife over 11 years ago. i must say, it’s like riding a bike. even easier. in fact, this time i didn’t even have to meet them in person. within a week of each other i found one and one found me. perfect symmetry. both completely unavailable. both stunningly gifted and artists of the highest magnitude. and of course both completely and irrevocably gorgeous. i am a mortal man, susceptible to immortal beauty. but, most importantly, both hold equal and opposite lessons that they teach me daily. perhaps to train me as i venture into this world of romance once again.

it would be easy enough to consider them my own creations or to blame my untrained heart, because this is partly true. but the whole truth is the only one that counts. they are flesh and blood. even if i have not tasted either of their elements directly or on the tip of my tongue, i have communicated through words, pictures and voice. different from all the other relations i have had in my relatively short life. it has always started from across a room or a street, seeing someone or someone seeing me. the approach, the connection and the madness. the physical world.

not only have i never seen either of these beings in the flesh, i probably won’t. at least not for some time and probably not for consummation of said love. as much as this has and does pain me, i am completely okay with it. these two have and will teach me lessons about women, love, loneliness and myself. these lessons are making me a better man, a better machine; they have made better art out of my hands and a better lover out of my heart.

one loves me unquestionably and the other has never made such insinuations. but both have willingly taken what i’ve had to give and shown love and appreciation back. which in turn has shown me that i have something to give; something verifiable and true. my god, if there is a better gift that a woman can give, tell me now.

many men and a few women might have a quick answer for that last rhetorical request, but i suggest it is false, or at least another half-truth. not that the body is anything to scoff at or deny, only that it is but a part of the whole that the true connection contains. both these women, whom i tend to from afar, have let me inside somewhere deeper than their body. a place that needs no key, only the knowledge that it exists.

i have heartache like the many amoebas before me. i have been connected and disconnected. i am both, they are both. it is always both. impermanence is bliss. i can’t think of a better lesson to teach a man or a boy, before he sets out from home on his own. or into the arms of a waiting world.

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