Give Me Sanity? Just ... not yet. | Teen Ink

Give Me Sanity? Just ... not yet.

November 19, 2013
By Your_Beautiful_Lies SILVER, Cairo, New York
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Your_Beautiful_Lies SILVER, Cairo, New York
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Favorite Quote:
"Expirence is a brutal teacher, but we learn. My God do we learn."~C.S.Lewis








OR
What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. It is always the same step, but you have to take it. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939, translated from French by Lewis Galantière


She inhaled triumphantly while stepping out of the facility under a brilliant panorama of star, moon, and glowing cloud. Feeling her body glowing from the workout. Feeling her empty stomach starting to stir with a delicious hunger.

Here, at the edge of the city she could smell odors suggesting pizza, grilled chicken, beef fajita, sauteed & seasoned onions, peppers, etc.

For a moment she could imagine herself half entangled in Jareth's lap. Could imagine their mouths independently munching on some oily delectable. She sighed with guilt wishing it were true. Wishing she could fill her stomach and heart at once and be given the supreme treasure of having someone else's set of fingers to lick.

Ah, the tactile vision of spiced kisses and red wine to chase everything down!

Several blocks away from her humble apartment, Sarah found herself once again drawn into the recesses of the night. The moon was again waxing.

How many times had it expanded and contracted. Disappearing like a glowing scythe into oblivion only to creep back into her heart's vision once more. Winking and glaring, pouring its dazzling brilliance into her light-sensitive retina, the lunar tide tugged at the edges of her soul.

She tried to blink, relaxing the muscles around her eyes as if to free her spirit to leap more deeply out upon the unfolding darkness surrounding her tightly bundled figure.

Without thinking, her gaze returned inevitably to the moon.

Soon, she thought, it will be full. A ripe fruit fit for plucking. Ripening as my soul ripens with each passing month, wondering if the harvest will at last seize upon these my trembling fruits.

It had been over a year since she had finally come to grips with the nature of the magnetic attraction the Goblin King wielded over her. Every day since that first acquiescence -initially both hesitant and triumphant- her had walked her waking fantasies ... sometimes as a tantalizing shadow but more often as the undeniable love of her body, mind, and soul.

She sat outside on a bench in the surprisingly mild brightness of a January afternoon. The brilliance of the sun filler her heart with warmth and peace. And with warmth and peace came sweet visions of love. It was useless to put them out of her mind. The rays of sunlight illuminating his wild locks of hair she adored so, the spark of tenderness hidden in the fierceness of his gaze, his hand firm and gentle tracing its course at the base of her skull ... on this point all discipline failed her. It was always and ever the most natural thing to dream of.

Sometimes desires swarmed Sarah's senses so intensely she lost all thought of what to do with herself. One day, in fact, she felt her flesh and psyche burning with a yearning so unbearable that she could barely follow the conversation going on around her.

Digging deeper into the dingy arm chair, she tried her best to look as though she were following the flow of ideas. Tried not to admit that all she could really think about was how she'd love to be writhing in Jareth's welcoming lap.

After about twenty minutes or so, she could no longer bear it. She ran up to the ladies room and practically burst into tears of sheer frustration once the stall door was safely shut. Of course it didn't help that on her way to the restroom, she ran into a man who looked like a spitting image of Jareth stepping out of the men's room. She about choked when he greeted her with a simple 'Hi.".

Sarah scribbled absentmindedly over the article she was supposed to be reading for work. Words flowed so unthinkingly she often commandeered whatever paper lay beneath the base of her palm - regardless of its originally intended use.

grant me the supreme honor of highest service
to a foreign, kindred, and beloved heart
let me wash your feet, then kiss them
until your being loses itself in the smell of grass and sunshine

She didn't carethe verse was sloppy. Didn't care she'd just filled the margin of her public health policy report with scribbled love notes. The only thought to give her pause was the inkling of self-conscious curiosity stirring in her gut—what if he can see this sappy gibberish through his crystals?

A smile spread methodically over her features.

It had been a long Friday for Sarah. Her friends had invited her to a movie, but all she really felt like doing was going home and relaxing with a cup of tea and a nibble of chocolate. So they went off to see the film, and Sarah packed up in her office cubicle, spirit like a weary horse stubbornly headed toward its barn.

Another day, she thought. Another day I rose with dreams of him laughing, teasing me awake. Another stretch of sunlit hours punctuated by the secret symphony of kisses which might have been or might yet still be.

She loved the way it never got boring meditating on the contour of his lips and the thought of their warmth on her skin.

Somedays the weight of her insanity hang more palpably than others. Sometimes it was enough for a thought, or an event to trigger the familiar self-reproach.

What am I thinking? Am I so demented? To imagine some being loves me and looks upon the mundane tedium of my life with care...

In any case, the cycling of enthusiasm followed by plateaued states of pure ecstasy and satisfaction and met at last with some humble prick of her conscience was all old hat by now. Sarah knew what to do-

the only thing she could do anymore.

Lying on her bed, music drowning out the temptation to feel ashamed of her obsession, she repeatedly ran her fingers through the silken softness of her brown tresses.

Just let it pass...Tomorrow is another day.

Incorrigible, she still couldn't keep from silently asking herself as she gently stroked her hair, why can't he touch this?

Early morning winter's light seeped into the little room, oozing through the blinds and covering everything in soft gray hope. Sarah snuggled deep into her now tangled pile of sheets, awake but at peace after a long night's sleep.

She let her fingers feel the different textures-smooth and silky sheets, woolly yarn Mexican blanket, the cottony underside of her greatgrandmother's quilt. Inhaling she rejoiced at the soulfull smell of clean laundry. Yes the scent of clean sheets made her want to shove her face into the pillow and rub her cheek against the comforter.

Out of blessed habit, she muttered a name. Imagined for a moment what it would be like to snuggle him in those sheets.

Ah, how she loved clean sheets days!

There had been a time when she had thought it all hopeless. Many months ago in fact. She had walked away from her hopes, from her dream of the Goblin King, only to weep unseen tears onto her pillow in night's empty silence. Still, nothing she did to make herself forget had been sufficient to finally extinguish that last spark of belief.

Then one day as she was walking, peace had lodged within her heart. She didn't know how to put it into words and she had absolutely no ground for reasoning about it, yet somehow she felt the Goblin King had come to live within her. Coddled in an unexpected cloud of joy, she prayed in that moment that wherever he was, she too had slipped quietly and comfortingly into his soul.

Sarah had enjoyed a fairly rip-roarin' day, all told. She'd trained new employees, sung during her break, and pleasantly rediscovered her reading fluency in French. Add to that a soothing swim plus sauna, and she was one happy camper.

Nearly skipping from joy she contemplated how she intended to treat herself: Chinese, French, Indian...?

Indian it was.

As the steaming plate of rice settled under her nose, she couldn't help but think to herself: By God look at what Jareth is missing out on!

Sarah sat near the open window. A hint of appraoching spring floating over the sill. In her heart there was a strange apprehension. She tried to put it out of her mind, with only mild success. Tried to tell herself it was just an overactive imagination.

You wouldn't deny me, Sarah, now would you?

The thought protruded from her ruminations. It flowed like fresh water streaming into salt. She brushed it away again. Of course it was just her imagination.

The woman brooded quietly in her room, methodically shedding the layers of clothing from her day until she stood in her undergarments in front of the full length mirror. In the light, her skin glowed inviting softness. Truly she was grateful for her feminine body, respectful and loving of its dignity. Tracing her hands lightly over her stomach, rib cage, shoulders, neck, she thought to herself: My love, these could be your hands touching me now. Why it would be so natural to share my body's company with you.

For a minute she let her mind wander, imagining their warm, half-exposed bodies sensually coordinating in embrace after entangled embrace upon her bed.

Then she went to the drawer and put on her blue night shirt and flowing pajama bottoms.

Unconsciously, she let a few words fall from her inner monologue into the open air.

"Some things in life could be very simple . Very simple. Oh, Jareth, if only you knew…"

Sarah was in a mood. A darkly mischievous mood. Devilish grin pasted on her face. Picturing the purple and black bodice in her closet and the fishnet stockings in her sock drawer, she imagined her face decked out with obsidian tinted rouge and heavy mascara. Depeche Mode's dirtiest hits were purring on her stereo.

Pumping her foot slowly into the adjacent bed as she lay splayed on her floor, she directed the heart of her contemplation to the worthy Fae captivating her heart, body and soul. Lips curled wryly over teeth as she imagined all the pleasure the acrobatics of her skillfully inspired tongue might avidly administer. After all, she too could be very generous…

Oh Jareth, wouldn't you love to see this side of me let loose?

It was marvelous having a darker sensual side. Great company it was.

Jareth pressed his dense frame down against her. Soft arms lifted over head, he held her right wrist with one hand and delivered caresses to her left palm and forearm with the other. He was smiling. Sarah was smiling. It felt good.

"See, it works much better this way doesn't it?"

Drunk on the Goblin King's weight, voice, touch, Sarah thought of all the vagaries of life, all the strife between her human brothers and sisters and for once simply agreed.

The more she thought about the more she loved the way he trained her. Yes, it chafed, but then…ah it gave her nights like these where he rewarded her handsomely for the gift of lordship over soul.

Breath matched breath; he held her fast and she loved that there was nowhere else to go, nothing left to do but give in and lose herself in the flood of sensation his being commanded in hers.

The alarm pulled her like cold taffy from her sleep.

A dream…

Hot tears welled like dew on the flower of her face, carved slow rivulets down her flushed cheeks. Desire gripped her body. She didn't fight it. She burned. Burned until she wept from tantalizing shivers coursing through her torso and down between her hips. Head tilted back in abandon the vision of his eyes probing her soul threw her mind in a spin again and yet again.

She didn't mind the pleasure without satiation. It was still pleasure. It was him. Amazing that the mere thought of him brought her to this state at times. Mind-boggling yes, unusual or infrequent no.

She burned...and refused to resist the fire's flooding.

At length, dire need subsided, and she returned to her usual train of thought. Flesh still tingling with the memory of passion's ecstatic vision.

"Where are you?" she said aloud.

She knew it didn't make sense to speak to thin air. But nothing really made much sense anyway.

She wished there was a way to say all the things her heart wished to express. Not words, no. Motions, caresses and yearnings of the soul. That was the language she wished to speak in. The language she wished to be heard in.

Even surrounded by nothing but resonating absence, his memory tugged, fingered, and strummed her heartstrings.

She knew instinctively that his power over her was stronger than any magic. It was the power he held to sense and respond to the most primal currents stirring in her spirit. His gift for wordlessly understanding the mute language of her soul.

"If you can hear me, please don't give up on me."

She didn't want to let herself go down the path. That path led to perdition.

Oh, her body she would gladly give, but her mind...ah that was a different matter.

And to give one's mind to no one, to empty space...that was the most bitter of all forms of madness.

She did not wish for this last madness.

But sometimes it was hard to keep from wondering. Bits of writing in half-comprehensible languages scribbled on a wall. Pauses, hesitations, half-formed intimations. Songs filtering through the grocery store aisles laden with just the right lyrics. Most of it she knew for certain was nothing more than cruel coincidence. And yet and yet from time to time, there arose a vestige that stubbornly refused total dismissal.

Ah life, she thought, how opaque you are these days.

Jareth, I repent of everything. Of my blindness, my selfishness, how I failed to listen and respond to your gentle call. Forgive me, please. I know now why I am in this strange place. It is my own insecurity that brought me here. My own demons that turned me away from your love. You have always loved me, faithfully, tenderly…It was I who did not see your heart offered up to me. It was I who left it out in the dead of winter with no solace, no light, no love. Please, allow me to return to you. Please, open your arms so that I can come home to you. My soul aches knowing that it could have kissed the center of your being, but instead by its own cowardice deprived you of what was duly yours. Then on top of that blamed your absence! Ah, when it was I who did not know how to be present…

Sarah softly clenched her jaw, not wanting to make too much noise. It was all she could do to keep herself from calling out into empty space.

With stationary teeth and tied tongue, she muttered over and over to no one, "relent, relent, relent, relent, relent, relent…Please!" Her nose scrunched as she squeezed out the please.

Bah! Desire could be a beautiful thing. But it was a beast as well.

Perhaps a jog. A nap? A glass of wine? Another random story to spin…anything to keep the edge off, anything to harness her wasted longing and shape it into something half-useful.

Today was one of those days where love seemed to dance in the air. Joy broke the barriers between inside and outside, and everything flowed with peace and hope.

Sarah jogged, as was her custom. The bright sunlight spread its balm on her soul.

The more truly we love, the fewer regrets…

I'll never regret loving you.

Sarah was grateful for life.

Loving was such a beautiful privilege.

Sarah met the day. Her stomach churned with new energy. She had no name for it.

No more names. No more words. No more games.

Her mind spit them out like a wound ejects a foreign object embedded in closing scar tissue.

A good a day as any, this one. Perhaps even better.



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