The long walk

Each of us is several, is many, is a profusion of selves. So that the self who disdains his surroundings is not the same as the self who suffers or takes joy in them. In the vast colony of our being there are many pieces of people who think and feel in different ways- Fernando Pessoa
The stones were where they've always been but today I saw them differently, everything seems to be different when light touches upon them. The path I always walked on was now green and overgrown with weeds and flowers, tulips and so much more. When I started walking, all I could think about was how beautiful it all was, the path, the trees, the green, the sea...the path by the sea...it was all so beautiful and I walked on. The path took me like it always did, somehow, I was no longer there, no longer this human who had seen this a thousand times before...suddenly, I felt like I could see something else that no one could...I could see life in all its form, blossoming and doing the things that we will never know how to...be alive.Everything was so alive and I walked down this path of living things....I walked down and when I got to the middle I pulled you close to me and kissed you, a long and passionate kiss as they say...I gave you a long and passionate kiss and said "I love you" but as soon as I had done that...I wanted to weep....I wanted to put my hand on my breast and weep....I had seen a woman do that once...in a film...she was scared that her child was dead and so she put her hand on her breast...right inside her shirt, it looked like she was soothing her breast...I have thought of that action so often...was it the action of a mother yearning for her child....even though he was now a grown man...was it the action of a mother thinking..."with these breasts I fed him?" or was she soothing herself as we humans are wont to do...we put our hands on different parts of our bodies and soothe ourselves...is that what she was doing?
I have thought about that often but today, on this path....all I want to do is curl up and put my hand on my breast and weep. I want to scream, I want to cry so badly with a hand on my breast and I know why I will do that, it is because it hurts so fucking much. You are not on any path with me. You are not with me. I am alone, walking on this path and I can not show you how beautiful it is, I can not show you the rocks or the trees or the stones or the sea...I can not show you because you are not here. Yet the kiss had seemed so real, your warm body against mine...it seemed so real and now I just want to throw up...

"Waffy, what are you thinking about?"

"About how you walk down this beautiful path and you have no one to share it with and then all of a sudden everything turns ugly...I could hit my head on this sharp rock and die...or this wooden bridge..I could lean against it and the rotten wood gives way and I just die and this beauty is now ugly...so fucking ugly...I feel like throwing up"

"You are so dramatic!"

Yes, yes, you get to be fucking dramatic when you want to lie on a path and put your hand on your breast and just cry...and throw up.