? not sure

It was music that brought us together and also would drive us apart.  We were together on a level that most will not attain.  This eventually would become disastrous for the both of us, and in parts of our own minds we knew this.  When she first walked into the room my attention was taken.  I could tell before she came into class, she had an air about her that was intoxicating.  She had a scent about her that would travel to me; I would chase that and even now I notice myself wondering what the combination was.  

I noticed her new tattoo.  It was a phoenix, accented with blues, purples and reds, a color spectrum in itself.  The image that was chosen to cover a mistake that she had wanted to forget, but somehow could never let go.  It was a mistake that was riddled with fear and abuse, and after years removed still had a grasp over her everyday life.  She told me the name it covered was forced upon her in a time of weakness, a name that trembled and cried from her lips. As outwardly strong she was, inside was fragile, a glass to close to the edge of a table, teetering. 

Every time we talked we seemed to grow closer, our conversations seemed to be timeless.   No matter what the topic was it would usually last for hours.  Most of the time she would talk about her time spent in South America.  She went down there to get away, where she meet an American woman.  This woman had herself gone down there with hopes and dreams of running her own riverboat service to tourists.  This woman had spent all of the money she had before realizing that this was a scam, and when she had gotten down there realized this but had no means to get back into the United States.  Instead this woman was found sitting in her door step smoking, with an inexpensive bottle of wine tucked between her legs.  A smell of body odor and booze was over powering.  Her inclinations to talk with this woman was overpowering, and once learning about this woman she had found that they were similar in multiple ways.  Disbelief and fear combined with the woman’s sorrowful tales and alcohol, she gave the woman a few dollars and left.  She was in disbelief because this woman lived this way, and fear because she might end up this way. 

She was born in New Hampshire but maintained a feeling and notion that this was not where her heart belonged.  She would go places under a presumed assumption that she was doing some “global” good by taking videos or pictures of endangered animals that were being sold.  In reality it was her desire to see and explore that overcame any desire to be ecologically or socially conscience. She needed to be somewhere, always moving.

Singing was a passion that I did and did well; growing up and through my early twenties I was involved with it in some capacity.  I would sing in choir, with bands, or just alone.  She went to college for music, which reshaped her perception on life.  Being naïve the first year almost killed her, with drugs in abundance and parties with professors and other famous musicians nearly every night.    Professors wanted to trade sex for grades and vice versa, while teachers pawning off guest musicians on the “star” students. Most of our conversations were about these occurrences. An addiction to sex and cocaine desensitized her to the point where waking up brushing cocaine off the coffee table to put down a cup of coffee was a normal routine.  The drug addiction was the easier of the two to get clean from, in which I was able to help with.  The other maybe still is an issue with her.

Religion was an unimportant role in her life but her own spirituality was important.  Her belief in just one God didn’t satisfy her yet her need to believe in something drove her to live life.  Believing that the universe was controlled by many different forces was easier for her to comprehend. She was afraid that if she didn’t believe in something than she would walk this Earth a lost soul wandering. 

She was broken, everything and anything that she could hold on to she would. I myself found what I needed a long time ago, but to be able to help someone else made us closer.  We told each other our greatest fears, and we were able to find and to deal with those that troubled us.  With every sin expressed, fear disclosed, and future endeavor told we became closer. 

With classes finished for the summer a group went out to celebrate, after a while some left while we stayed behind.  We talked about the end of classes and what we were planning on doing during the summer; at some point though, we ran out of things to say.  The only thing we had was right in front of each other speechless, for once we didn’t speak.  I told her that this was going to end badly for the both of us, she agreed.  She wondered how we got to this point and asked why?  Though she quickly answered because it was just meant to be and we sat in silence on a bench in a park, holding on, while time just stopped.  After sometime she stood up to walk to her car, careless and free.  The ease of which looked like she wasn’t walking at all, floating while she moved.  I knew from this moment we were not meant for one other. Saddened by the thought of losing her I felt my grip loosen while she walked away.  Knowing I could not hold on to her I had to let go.  It was a moment in time where on lonely nights you revisit in your head and wonder if you would have done anything differently.

She taught me much more than I would have ever dreamed one person could have.  She showed me the good in everything, even in what we did to each other.  No one had ever stood by my side like she did, even in my weakest moments there was always a kind word or an open ear.  She taught me that fears were only expectations that we had about our future and that the need to face them will only make us stronger.  That sins that we impose on ourselves can be forgiven if asked and enough time has gone by.  That we need to direct our hearts in the right direction so the right people who deserve them will receive the love we have to offer.  And the most important was the fact that we would have and never could have been anything than what we were. 

The last time I saw her I was walking away feeling dejected, rejected, while looking back still seeing, feeling the damage that was left behind.  The pain that was seared onto her face will probably heal and become another scar left by someone whom she gave everything to.  Walking out the door still with the scent of her skin residing in my memory; I left her knowing it was for the best.  I could hear her weep while the door shut.    

Author's Note

I need to get a good title for this piece, i have one but it isnt good... so as soon as possible would be fantastic!