Chapter 6:
It's funny how things change. In passing reflection, there's little room between the passage of one second into another, but the course of an entire life can change in that tiny span. It takes a second to blink; a second to swallow and smile, and turn around. It takes a second for a tear to fall.
And it takes a mere second, I suppose, to live and die, and simply become a whole person, to lose yourself in that little space of oblivion where memories fade, dreams die, and hope is that little thread of impossibility lingering like a distant star.
It takes a second to forget all that matters.
Sometimes I think it would take a second to leave him.
It would take a second to love him.
And it would take an eternity to ever truly say goodbye.
*
"You're holding onto something, Samantha. What is it?"
I don't know yet.
"The gunshot wound? Barry Mashburn? Your childhood? This man you love?"
"I'm holding on to them."
"Who?"
"Everyone."
"How can you remember all of them, Samantha? There's been so many --"
Sometimes I wish I could forget.
"I don't know."
"And this man you love? What's holding you back from giving yourself completely to him?"
"Maybe I'm afraid."
"Afraid?"
"Of what will happen. Of what won't happen."
"Do you need him?"
"Yes."
"Do you want him?"
"Yes."
"Then shouldn't this be easy for you?"
"Yes."
"What's the problem then?"
"I think maybe I love him too much."
And that's why I can't have him and why I can't ever turn away.
*
There was a time once when I would've jumped willingly into his arms if he need only ask. Maybe it should've been harder than that, and maybe it was just as it should've been. I sit for hours pondering the delicate intricacies of our entire affair and subsequent relationship, and the purgatory we're suddenly trapped in right now.
I suppose what I'm looking for more than anything right now, what I need like the air I breathe, are answers and truths and half-lies so comfortably whispered I can believe them too. It's all I need. I need some peace and resolution. I need him.
I need to hold onto him and say goodbye to them.
Then maybe it will fall into place.
I just haven't figured out how to get there yet.
Because I love him too much; because I can't let go.
*
"Sam, what do you want exactly?"
He's throwing my own question back at me and I pause.
His hands are soft and strong, weathered and gentle. They're a contrast in themselves, just like he himself is at times. Fierce and passionate and firm; calm and and loving and tender.
"Jack --"
Where am I going?
What am I doing?
"Jack, I want -- I want my life. I want to live."
"What's stopping you?"
There's a million questions and no answers and I hear my sins being calculated again on that aged parchment as my soul is judged before God and Jack and my own ghosts. There was a time when it all came so easy -- living and loving.
But the last few months, those faces come to me at night and day, in dreams and reality and between every inhale and exhale.
Because somewhere along the way, I forgot to live.
*
TBC...