Postcard: Dublin, Again

A platonic love letter to Krystianne, for the power of giving up control,

It was a good hour, that one when we met just before I left and talked and talked and we understood each other so well it almost hurt. You were comfort and guidance in things I had been worrying over too long, and maybe I was the same for you. And we both stood up at the end of that hour saying, “I need to go for a walk and digest what you said,” and that is the best feeling at the end of a good talk.

And I wondered why you’d come into my life when you did. Why it was then that you looked up at me and said Hello and understood everything I needed to say without once needing an explanation. Was it fated? Was this written or random? Were our souls bound to meet and see each other fully in this moment, in a basement, waxing lyrical on love and truth and BDSM in such simple words that we made the whole universe simple with us?

I can give control up unto the powers that be and allow them to chart my course, knowing full well that the universe is in me and I am in it, that I am small and eternal. Sometimes the powers that be are the people we put our trust in. We are in them and they are in us. Freedom you choose to give up is still freely chosen. There is so much power in submission, and so much freedom.

And maybe they can own us, and be the voices in our heads, and live inside our souls and rule our minds and linger in our hearts. And that’s okay. And I am terrified. And that, too, is okay.

It’s that thing you just know, that is undeniable, because you tried so many times to deny it and you would if ever you could. That spark that burns the world down just for it to grow again.

I had so much to learn from you and there you were to teach me. You never told me what to do, just sat and spoke and asked the right questions. And what I think is, that maybe it was destiny and maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was, it happened. It happened when it did, and I am still digesting what you said, and it is still the best feeling.

In the end, are they really all that different, chance and fate and choice? Free will or destiny? Calling it a cosmic plan or random accident doesn’t change the fact that things happen, and I am grateful for them, and for you.


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