Sunday, 16 September 2007

Tour guides.

    Show me how defenseless you really are.

Every night I get into the middle of our big bed, a tiny form wrapped in my own nakedness, and I drift off to sleep between two men, locked in a three-way embrace while my head wages war with my heart. While the baggage lying unclaimed inside my brain wreaks havoc with my flawless itinerary around the sun. While I fight on for order and peace, a one-girl SWAT team named Bridget with her useless and broken emotional weapons.

Every night is a wild swing, a battle between heaven and hell. Four strong arms wrapped around me, two strong and warm, smooth and muscled, two rotting sinew and bone, grating and rough against me.

For one is so so alive and one is so very completely dead.

But they are both here, with me. Surrounding me with their own ideas of what love means.

Every night the angel brings me to heaven for brief glimpses of sunshine and lightness of being and every night the devil's little brother drags me down to stand before the burning gates of hell to show me the pain within. My views of heaven are blown open and offered lovingly, the views of hell a locked-down purgatory of torture with a soundtrack of laughter and my own screams.

One set of arms holds me aloft, an offering to all that is good, a smile, some encouragement, while the other set holds me down in order to inject the nightmares, grinning while I cry.

The nightmares would be worse if I had buried Cole instead of having him reduced to ashes. I did that so that he couldn't come after me any more where I lie, protected by wings I can peek over to make sure we are safe.

And I have failed. No one is safe here.

He's right beside me when I sleep, he won't go away.

I'm not even sure if I want him to go away.