a Soul Shrouded in Mystery

the Cliffs of Moher. Image by author

When you speak my language it sounds rigid, like an iceberg chipping from its heights. When you speak your tongue it sounds like a sweet melody marinated in the honey of pleasure, as well as the understanding of its pain. I’ve held my ear against your chest, trying to listen to the stories your heart holds within itself like a lost pearl enclosed in a shell. You look at me like you are willing to break, for the hundredth time, or maybe thousandth, me being that thousandth. Your soul, how it has borne the weight of such loss, defiant with the scars of suffering. Experience that has made you wiser, quicker, more adapted, and a great deal kinder than the rest. And the way you move- the dominion of your grace is how petals fall so easily and effortlessly, like some sort of celestial being that I envy oh so much. Your knowledge of man and his ways is one you have memorized like the back of your hand; it is one you, yourself have lived; a life of survival, of both freedom and captivity; both sides of one coin. Tie me to the rooftops, let the rain drench me. Let me stand naked in the cold. If I could dance with your soul we would be dancing between the flames of our desire to feel each other. Time, like empty space, would become foreign; nothing but a void. It was never real anyway. If I could touch your soul it would either be like fire burning into my flesh into my fingertips, or static electricity that would shake the very roots of my being into both ecstasy and pain, to such an extent I will forget how to breathe…

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Sophia Shearman

Sophia Shearman

I am deeply INSPIRED to create magic through empowering, healing, and moving those who read.