Ours

Venus drifted deeper into the dark oblivion.  Sulking in between thick clouds that dominated the murky moonless sky. I stand on the grassy porch with both of my hands kept warm in my pocket. It was cold but not bitterly so. The chilly August wind smelled of damp sands. I’m still looking up. There’s the constellation of Orion. I have always had this inexplicable fascination over what the imagination construed as a man pulling an arrow - The Hunter. In the Greek Mythology Orion the Hunter was the lover of the Goddess of the dawn, Eos. He was later slayed by Artemis, Goddess of the wildlands, over jealousy.

The Orion Nebula lies just on the Hunter’s sword. Stretching its empire of hot gases and newly born blue stars for as wide as 15 million light years. But from earth, they appear to us as just a small patch of blurry dot. It occurred to me how we must appear as an even smaller dot from Orion. And how frail and puny we are compared to the might of the Creator.  I closed my eyes on that humbling note.

Emme is sleeping in the room. Safe and unaware. Come dawn she will have to leave again. Weekends begin with absolute euphoria and ended in concentrated torture. It’s beginning to feel like an inexorable cycle. Like a raging tornado and we’re caught in its turbulence.

But I need to stay strong.

Emme made everything bearable. I endured because she endured. I wipe the tears off her warm cheek as she did mine. She made it seems possible. Attainable. Easy. Though her now and again silent weep told me a different story. There were times when we almost give in. But Emme, when she believes in something, she became a fighter. She knows no restraint, no boundary, no border.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time baby. I’m here now.”

- Emme Fabella

The moon made a delayed appearance just as I was making my way back into the house. Emme was crouching and breathing deep. I covered her with a thick cotton wool blanket - her house warming gift. She lay unmoved.

Under the feeble cobalt blue night light, I gazed at my lover. She folded her tiny hands under her cheeks. Her long eyelashes meet and reside. She’s at peace.

The first time I ever saw Emme, it was her eyes that told me everything I needed to know about her. They shine in deep, dark brown residues that mimic pillars of timeworn oaks shimmering as the warm July shower glazed its mossy bark. Her eyes are wide and eager. Piercing like metal shards. Yet it brought upon stories of battle lost and defeated wars. It praised the bearer for the silent nights she filled with tears and prayers. An unyielding attempt to reach out to the higher power.

 I saw a glimpse of hope. Of life. Of home. Finally.

I've kissed those eyes countless times. Often resting my lips longer than I should. There lies the essence of her being. The entrance into her soul. Her eyes aid her fingers as they scour their way onto my skin. They guide her feet as she eases her warm body closer to mine.

 I kissed her dark flowy hair. As dawn grew near, I put my arms around her.

 This love is all I had ever wanted. More than anything in the world. I am keeping my promise, Emme.

This battle is ours.