Someone Like You

June 19, 2013 by Aspergers Girls 4 Comments

You do not know me. It’s absolutely impossible to know me. I am changing so fast and in such variable degrees, that you can’t catch up. I can’t catch up. And no one can.

I am changing just like you: with each encounter, circumstance, and connection. With all the connections and scaffolding, countless new avenues forming, I’d be lucky to catch myself in yesterday.

And yesterday, I wasn’t even here. I was forging ahead into my own reality, sleeping through what others see, and awake for other transpirings.

You cannot know me in completion, and for that I ache. How could you? My thoughts are so brilliantly complex and my wanderings of heart so deeply dissected and resurfaced as renewed love again and again.

I feel a thousand needles within a singular prick. I hear a thousand voices in your eyes. The way you tickle me with words, makes me bleed out the want of knowing more of who you are. For each of your shadows of thought moves through me, each word casting a darkness that I long to explore. Each transition you take, from one bridge to the next, a  want to cross over. To trail behind you like some love –sick pup and lap at your weary feet.

I want to be that traveler with your hand in mine, the two combined as the powerful force of all, to merge with the stepper and be the trail you take. To merge with the seeing, and be the eyes you behold. I want to be the lens of your world and my lens yours. To give you my very sight, and to, with this, entangle all of my senses as a bundle of bewilderment.

I want to make you wild with desire, and awe. To make you ache to climb into where I am and become me. I want. I want. I want. I can’t stand the isolation of creation.

All that flows through me, so miraculously unsettling, and calmingly reassuring at once. A union of spectacular force that leaves me trembling in need of recognition.

I long for my brother, for my sister, for my very lost knight, the one whose transgressions he sees and mistakes me for the cause.

I long for the blinded preacher whose pride has trapped him in chains of punitive uprising. I long for the captain of the wayward ship who steers too far in thinking the distance will cleanse him of the salty wounds of summer’s ranting wind.

I long for the bell boy ringing at the steps and beckoning the worshipers forward to the place he thinks is the start, when the beginning is beneath the very sound he makes.

I long for the queen’s fellow, the one hidden in the dungeon of hunt for her royal touch, and so suffers for the cause of his own awakening to desire.

I long for the soldier standing on the battlefield weeping for the courage to survive for the place he once called home.

I long for these distant lovers as if they are me and I am them.

To blend and to mold and become the ache of the centuries.

To dive through the suffering, and emerge dripping wet with the found hope of union.

To know in the stronghold of pain I am found.

To know that each is the same terrified victim of haunting woes.

I want to emerge cleansed of self and lathered in the riches of all that were before me, and all that will be when they set their eyes upon my own vision.

I want to be in this pool of all, submerged and resurfaced, as if the very dipping is the answer to the deep shaking need I carry.

I am this babe torn out of the shelter, pushed from the nest by very self, and then flying in a vast empty place of nowhere.

To feed me to the waters is my rescue.

To remove me from my wanderings and set me in your tethered embrace.

I long for the true arms.

The thick unbreakable embrace that entwines me deeper than the father oak and wider than the circumference of sleeping moon.

I want to climb into the someone somewhere and be rocked to sleep to the music of my own soul.

To be told again and again that all is as is, and in this all is enough.

To be whispered, and soothed with the blowing of thoughts into my substance of ears. The words slipped past flesh and straight through to my heart-mind.

To hear again and again: You are adored. You are loved. You are mine.

Oh to be owned in the finest fashion, where the ownership and occupant of such pleasure become one. So the blinded are free, and the sufferer emerged as fueled and filled.

I want the starlit soldier-knight, the one I am beckoned to in dream after dream. The one with the seamstress dancing in the heavens and threading face after face of beauty.

I want to swing under the darkness lit by the calling, and know I am the stars, the voice, and the beauty.

But mostly I want to dive into you, until the splashing ceases, for every drop of ocean has been erased. And all that remains is you and me, touching in the sand, my canvas empty and you painting into me, one long endless ribbon of finding.

Me, as your treasure map. Me, as your treasure. Me, as the glistening gold you searched for eternally. And you as the guide who found the invisible glow I am, and in seeing me fully, set me as the sun into the sky, and sang to me the sweetest song of home.