Chaos Called Love

It’s hard to describe happiness. We bask ourselves in the exhilaration of emotion and tan ourselves under the sun of joy, closing our eyes against the brightness of feeling. Every bad thought we’ve ever had is pushed into the darkest and most hidden corners of our minds. We can not describe the state of being we relish ourselves in because, in order to do so, we must reach into those willfully forgotten places and remember. The accurate description of our very pleasure requires that we recall every heartache and pain to make a comparison. Why then describe happiness? Truly it is said that ignorance is bliss.

There was once a connoisseur of chocolates in a candy store to sample the wares that were offered. He picked up a small piece from the wooden bowl, chewed slowly and then stated, “This is a really good chocolate.” He moved up the table that was prepared for him and read the label upon the next plate: Sweeter Than Before. He picked up the dark brown candy from the copper plate and placed it in his mouth. “This is most excellent!”, he said with a smile. Moving further along up the table he beheld a silver plate covered with oval shaped chocolates of mixed hues. The label read ‘Cloud Nine’. With enthusiasm he picked up the delicacy and placed it in his mouth. “This is the best chocolate I’ve ever eaten!”, he shouted out loud. Unable to contain himself, he moved up the table to the next offering. There upon a golden plate lay heart shaped chocolates, deeper and darker in color than he had ever seen before. Slowly he picked up one of the heart shaped pieces and examined it under the light. His eyes grew bigger and his mouth watered.

He held his gaze to the candy with such intent that the store vendor himself exclaimed, “Eat it! You must try it!”

A few seconds passed and the face of the connoisseur dropped, the lust of his anticipation replaced by sorrow and a tear fell down upon his cheek. Slowly he put the piece back down upon the golden plate and turned to walk away. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?!”, cried the vendor.

“I can’t. I just can’t”, replied the connoisseur.

Silence holds me close to heart
And slowly burns the fire
Honesty my integrity
And now I play the liar
Evil is as evil does
Just look what I’ve become
Loving you a dying breed
That falls before my gun

Yet silence holds me close to heart
Preserving passion of your thought
I bear this cross though it be my loss
The work that I have wrought

I hesitated outside the entrance to the good doctor’s office. Instead of the usual open door, it was partially cracked and I could hear voices inside. Gut instinct kept me from knocking and so I stood there listening to the words I wasn’t supposed to hear.

“It’s a silly diagnoses. Nobody gets PTSD from falling in love.” I had heard his voice before but I couldn’t remember when.

“The symptoms are all there: disruptive flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia, disassociation. The list goes on. It’s a text book case.”

“Failed relationships are depressing, not traumatic. I’d recommend you get more information on her. Don’t let the patient sell you his own Hollywood drama.”

‘Hollywood drama’, the words rang so loud I could hear them echo. Every romance movie, every fairytale and every love story I ever heard collided in my head bringing images of her face. Part of me wanted to breakdown and cry right there in the hallway but the other part managed to keep control. I took a breath and knocked rapidly on the door. “Hello….Dr. Feelgood.”

“Come in crazy.” She responded with normalcy. “I’d like you to meet a colleague of mine, Dr. Simpson. Dr. Simpson, meet my favorite client.”

Client…..she called me a client;as if my therapy were voluntary. “Hello Dr. Simpson, nice to meet you.” I extended my hand to his as I looked him over. The voice I knew; I never forget a voice. I couldn’t place his face.

“Favorite huh? I hope you know what an honor that is!” He sounded cheerful as he took my hand and gave it a firm grip. “Well I’ll leave you two. I have to tend to things downtown.”

He turned to walk away and I noticed the limp in his step. The hospital, that’s where he was from; the psych-ward at the hospital. I remember only two things from that night: hitting the paramedic in the ambulance who dug his fist into my sternum to illicit a response and the voice of Dr. Simpson in the hospital. I believe his exact words were, “Keep this one overnight.”

I took my usual seat in the armchair as Dr. Simpson closed the door behind him. The good doctor smiled and I wondered if she wondered how much I had heard at the door. Had she wondered, it was a subject she would not consider delving into and so I sat there patiently waiting for her routine introduction.

“How was your week?”

I hate open ended questions so I gave my typical open ended reply. “The usual. Not too good, not too bad. Eat, sleep and work.”

“So you’re sleeping now?”

“About the same. A few hours here and there.”

“We can temporarily switch to a stronger sleep med if you’d like.”

“I’m fine. I can live on the sleep I get.”

“If you don’t rest properly, it will cause you more stress. Are the nightmares still an issue?”

“You know what they say Doc, there’s no rest for the wicked.”

Therapy was entertaining at the start. The intellectual jabs back and forth, the silent innuendos and the word games, it all provided enough entertainment to make it through the hour. That was then. Now it was like chewing broken glass. We made it through the hour without regard to her memory and for that I was thankful. I really don’t care what the good doctor’s diagnoses is, the truth is unforgiving.

Underneath these blackened skies
The twilight in my mind
Drifter further from these lies
And the world we left behind
“It’s all I see and all I hear”
A chorus of demons sing
“Watch her free in the fear”
Truth is an ambiguous thing
So slowly sleeping the world turns
These visions in my head
Another torrent of fire burns
Remembering what she said

Her beauty makes me scream inside
For the longing that I need
Slit my wrists down to the bone
If only love could bleed
Another truth in my fantasy
Another lie to touch
It’s all now just a memory
I love so very much

“Last nights dream”, she said to me
“Becoming so predictable,
Another love I’m dreaming of
It’s all so very typical.”

I need her….
I need her….

Just like the earth needs rain
And like Adam needed Eve
I need her like I need air
Without her I can’t breathe
But now the roses die in vain
The sweetest of agony
Because still living inside my mind
I know she’s needing me

We handed the attendant our tickets and moved single file past the turnstile where our eyes opened to the garden entrance. Peacocks strutted past us with their plumage in full view. Their magnificent colors radiated with iridescent hues from the bright light of the noon-day sun and, as we drew closer, they voiced their protest with a mewing that was as beautiful and distinct as their markings. In the distance you could hear the laughter of children. Portable kiosks overflowed with souvenirs and zoo maps, none of which we needed considering the number of visits we had made.

Our first stop was always the duck ponds where we would toss our purchased feed. The ducks would swarm and compete with the large orange and white Koi for the droppings with a frenzy that would make you believe they hadn’t been fed in weeks when in reality, it was only moments ago that they had last been fed by the zoo patrons. We would invariably find our favorites among the fowl and bestow upon them the abundance of our food and sometimes, if we were patient, we could feed them from our palms. The result was always laughter and smiles.

As we continued our stroll through the park we would call and point out the animals one by one with the names that we had given them on our very first visit. How we acquired those names was a mystery but the names themselves were an accepted fact and we would speak of them as if we had known them everyday of our lives, sometimes as if they were our own children. There was Sasha the Northern Spotted Owl, Tommy and Tammy the Giraffes, Mikhail the Black Bear, Tyra and Halo the Racoons and a host of others. Never once did we forget the names we gave them or what we loved about them. Of all the animals we loved the most though, our favored child was definitely Noah the Asiatic Lion.

It was hard not to love Noah. Noah was royalty and he knew it. He was majestic, he was regal and every step he took announced his dignity. His large reddish mane crowned his head leaving no doubt about his position in the pride and, at 400 plus pounds, his status was indisputable. If he could speak, one would imagine his words to be all the wisdom of Solomon. But Noah was more to us than the King of the Beasts, he was a respected friend that would roar every time he saw us together. If we visited Noah separately, he would stare at us with the same blank look that he gave every man, woman and child that strolled past his domain. When we were together, he would always greet us. The zoo keepers were amazed at Noah’s ritual but secretly we knew that this King of Beasts was just acknowledging the greatest authority and the highest power that man or beast could know: Noah recognized love and he saluted it.

I laid there comfortably reclined on the sofa while watching her knit another blanket. Her hands weaved over and under one another as she worked the needles with a rhythm that was not only musical, it was magical. There was grace in her every movement and it was all but impossible to miss the tapping of her left foot that she used to keep pace. I knew one day I would see the soft grace of those hands aged with time and I looked forward to the moments in between.

After a few days , what was mere inches of weaved yarn turned into several feet of blanket covered in mosaics. Five shades of blue blended together in harmonious accord and slowly the creation grew longer and longer until it was six feet long and four feet wide. It was beautiful, it was comfortable and it was heavy; just perfect for those cold rainy nights spent in front of a fireplace.

“What room is this one for?”

“The bedroom.” She replied with a smile of affection while biting down gently on her lower lip. Her smile gave way to mine as I held her gaze and, to the amazement of neither, our errands were left unattended that evening. Nothing else mattered.

I can still see the flicker of the candle light painting her shadow dance on my wall. I can still feel the heat of her breath on my neck and I can still hear it all as if it were happening right now. Every time I close my eyes, I am there. The Good Doctor will never find a pill for that.

Blinded by the light
My lovely shadow dancer
Tattooed in the night
Yet no one understands her

Under all these sands of time
With the scarring of the sun
Unrelenting this death of mine
And a love that’s yet undone