I stand at my own alter

I stand at my own alter, the one placed before my heart and I proclaim myself worthy. 

A weasel that tries to lull me under and a synesthesia that helps build new pathways eternal. Between what once was and what could be. Yet what about all the fighting? The unsureedness, until all the clarity comes through. The falling back of all the layers you have placed around yourself and all the walls I have chosen to hide behind. Rugged and ragged, a beast of your own design, or in my own hands, bright and innocent the kind of thing they all love to fantasize about. Some costume, some getup I can hide all of my true colors, the ones I hear and taste and feel, behind. 

I remember our lives together. Devoted, true, unconditional. The ones where you wept over my dead body, took your own life at the hands of fate. To see your eternal lover massacred and laid out, how could you ever recover? I too saw lives of happiness, joy together. Of battle, of you using your body as a shield to my own. Flaming arrows piercing your back, cupids bow. I saw moments of love, flowers and fields of light. Everything within this earth plane I have felt with you. Divine lover. Laying on your chest I see clearly, I see through the blue. 

Still waters run deep. And to you the waters reveal the truth in subtle bubbles, like sweet sips of air an orca gulps from the surface before traveling down to the deep pressurized quiet below. Soft slow sips of brilliance as to not overwhelm the system. When a heart yearns to break and a body keeps it in place, upright in your seat. Keep breathing I hear. Keep feeling, keep pushing, you can do this, I’m with you. I’m with you. I’m with you and you’re not alone in any of this. Keep breathing, keep feeling, the pain will pass. 

Take me to the river, cleanse my soul, with my feet on the ground. 

How can I get through any of this? It’s been done over and over and over again and has never subsided, all of this pain, all the heartache. How do any of us recover?