I'm breathing, finally breathing. In…and out. In…and out. In…and out. Breathe.
If they could see Her, see that Her wind caresses hairs, Her ocean soothes ears, Her sun softens skins, maybe they wouldn't cause that rage inside of Her, wouldn't cause the thunder boiling in Her belly, the storm scarring souls and drowning beings, deaths that ruin the living.
I fear that we are too engulfed in our fantasies, too entranced in dreams that are only dreams, imaginations meant for the mind to cope with our unmet needs. I see them, hear them, laying next to me as I sleep, underneath bed sheets, resting on pillows, staring into my soul, yearning to be touched by these feeble hands and timid fingertips. I see them when my eyes wander to the seas, hear them when I bathe in warm waters, listen to mellow tunes. They look back at me when blood floods the table, inflames the wound, when walls enclose and stones cripple bones, grasping for air, aching to be rescued by the one who sees more than a corpse, a limp human body. We crave for them, thirsting for a touch, a kiss, an unsolicited love, a fanatical life.
Will She come and save me as I lay on Her log and weep to Her songs? Will She smooth back my hair and embrace a body fighting for much more than this fragile life?
I close my eyes as I breathe, wait for an answer, stay awake. She'll come to me, lead me. She'll caress me, sooth me, soften me. Take me to him, to his mind, to his soul, to my dream. Let him be…let him see.
He calls to me, I answer.
He speaks to me, I chuckle.
He cares for me, I smile.
He sees me, I cry.
I'm breathing, finally breathing. In…and out. In…and out. In…and out. Breathe.
"He's waiting, my love," She says to me.
"We're waiting."