Passions and ObsessionsHer life has closed on her, from wide open spaces and boundless passion to this small circle that tethers and binds. Lately she wonders how far removed she has become from the person she used to be and if there is any hope of that person's return. She was swept into a dream, led by soft brown eyes that held her in their engaging playfulness. She never dreamed that those kisses would not last. Yet, slowly they tapered off. Those beautiful eyes lost interest in hers. Nights of reckless lovemaking, teeth tearing into flesh and fistfuls of hair, dissolved into tears the next morning for lack of tenderness. A touch in the night accompanied by the ever-present fumes of whiskey on his breath, until she turned away and feigned sleep.
Yet the wanton woman within reached out and tried to hang on. The attraction to him was undeniable. Alas, it was too late for his desire was gone. His attraction for her had vanished, leaving her to question everything about herself. Was she too fat, too thin? Did he see something undesirable in her, something that repulsed him, perhaps a character flaw? Confusion mounted and the questions went on and on, tearing her apart.
Then out of the blue, he would reach out and welcome her back into his arms. They would make love like it was the end of the world and oh, how very happy she would be! She would awake the next morning believing that they had started afresh. The air smelled so sweet, the coffee tasted so good. When she looked in the mirror, she recognized herself. Hair in disarray, makeup smudged beneath her eyes, and glowing.
It would be months before he would touch her again. She would reach for him, and he would recoil, jump away as though her touch burned him. He would leap out of bed cussing, grab his pillows and disappear. If she'd thought the questions in her head were bad before, imagine how confused she was now! Was he having an affair, then? Perhaps he was gay. It got to the point where she no longer wanted to feel any desire or passion for anything. Even watching a love scene on TV would reduce her to angry tears. She began turning down his rare advances, not wanting to let him that close to her again.
I am that woman. This story is mine. I have turned off that passion within me, the passion that I once considered an essential part of who I am. Without passion, I cannot see the world in color. I cannot write poetry, only those things which can be written with a heavy heart. I cannot paint or draw. Even my way of dressing has become very muted and plain. I wonder if there is any hope of ever becoming passionate about anything again. Yet, I see a ray of hope. For in my children, there is magic. I feel a part of me coming alive, unfurling to greet the sun. It is a new awakening, and I embrace it.