There's a cost to sacrificing purity. Shadows in the dark, shadows in the light. A brick and mortar building, 1970's white and red, squat little construction houses memories and ghosts I can't exorcise by willpower alone. He has them too, my lover, my husband, old memories of relationships past that rise up occasionally, and we talk about these, sometimes angrily, or regretfully, at times mournfully. It is so with consequences, bleeding into the present in unpredictable ways. And for all that lack of purity in days gone by, there is a deeper sense of appreciation for what is shared now between us. Still a knowing of what was lost in the folly of youth. We both ache to know what became of those we loved and lost, those we wounded and walked away from, those who scarred us and scavenged our souls and scurried off into the dark of unknown tunnels of labyrinths of their own making.
How were we spared the downward spiral paired to the acerbic slow death conjugated to troubled souls?
It is like a bad habit kicked, the bad taste still rising in your mouth unbidden, the occasional urge to taste the bitterness again, to know what became of those mistakes made, those people paired with, to see where life has taken them to while we have escaped the shipwreck and found the shore and made a home there.
We grit teeth and turn stoic from questions without answers, offer a quick prayer for those we can't reach out to, for they are like fire to our kindling souls still, and instead we cling to each other and purity restored, and to a few simply verses from II Timothy 2, repeating them like a mantra in the dark night, stilling the long twilight of questions and doubt:
How were we spared the downward spiral paired to the acerbic slow death conjugated to troubled souls?
It is like a bad habit kicked, the bad taste still rising in your mouth unbidden, the occasional urge to taste the bitterness again, to know what became of those mistakes made, those people paired with, to see where life has taken them to while we have escaped the shipwreck and found the shore and made a home there.
We grit teeth and turn stoic from questions without answers, offer a quick prayer for those we can't reach out to, for they are like fire to our kindling souls still, and instead we cling to each other and purity restored, and to a few simply verses from II Timothy 2, repeating them like a mantra in the dark night, stilling the long twilight of questions and doubt:
Now in a large house there are not only gold and silver vessels, but also vessels of wood and of earthenware, and some to honor and some to dishonor. Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from these things, he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work. Now flee from youthful lusts and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart. But refuse foolish and ignorant speculations, knowing that they produce quarrels. The Lord’s bond-servant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all, able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God may grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will.
I lit a fire with the love you left behind,
And it burned wild and crept up the mountainside.
I followed your ashes into outer space
I can't look out the window,
I can't look at this place,
I can't look at the stars,
They make me wonder where you are
Stars,
Up on heaven's boulevard
And if I know you at all,
I know you've gone too far
So I, I can't look at the stars
~Stars, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals~
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