Joy in the Here and Now
May. 6th, 2025 10:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeRawlin: This morning, I woke up to rain against the window pane, my symbiont in my arms, and her claim in oil stained on my skin. We were warm and safe, dry and content, and I was happy.
I never thought I could be happy like this, after everything we've been through, after everything I've done. I had resigned myself to a life of loneliness and lovelessness, given up hope for anything better... and now, without my having done anything to earn it, here I am, with everything I have ever wanted, fallen into my lap. Truly, life is beyond prediction.
We are no longer in danger, no longer being hurt. Yes, we are dealing with the scars and shrapnel of the past... but we are dealing with them, and I am coming to believe butch when she says that nothing is ever going to come between us ever again. Each time a memory she had lost came up, I was so sure that she would realize what she had gotten into and leave, and every time, it instead becomes something we can talk about, grieve, and move through. It becomes speakable, bearable, healable. As impossible as it sounds, we become closer through it, and the more times this happens, the less frightened I become of the next one.
We cannot pretend that there is an Eden to return to, a time before scarring, for we were forged in the molten heart of violence, and if it hadn't existed, then neither would we. We can also never become the people we were before the god devoured me. There is no undoing that history. But... as impossible as it seems to believe, I'm starting to think that maybe this here-and-now is better, for all the weight and scars of the past, for all the uncertainties and tyrannies of the future. Because there is rain against the windowpane, and a butch who loves me, and I am joyous.
I never thought I could be happy like this, after everything we've been through, after everything I've done. I had resigned myself to a life of loneliness and lovelessness, given up hope for anything better... and now, without my having done anything to earn it, here I am, with everything I have ever wanted, fallen into my lap. Truly, life is beyond prediction.
We are no longer in danger, no longer being hurt. Yes, we are dealing with the scars and shrapnel of the past... but we are dealing with them, and I am coming to believe butch when she says that nothing is ever going to come between us ever again. Each time a memory she had lost came up, I was so sure that she would realize what she had gotten into and leave, and every time, it instead becomes something we can talk about, grieve, and move through. It becomes speakable, bearable, healable. As impossible as it sounds, we become closer through it, and the more times this happens, the less frightened I become of the next one.
We cannot pretend that there is an Eden to return to, a time before scarring, for we were forged in the molten heart of violence, and if it hadn't existed, then neither would we. We can also never become the people we were before the god devoured me. There is no undoing that history. But... as impossible as it seems to believe, I'm starting to think that maybe this here-and-now is better, for all the weight and scars of the past, for all the uncertainties and tyrannies of the future. Because there is rain against the windowpane, and a butch who loves me, and I am joyous.
