Parabolic Lover

I hear about “my” gals’ lovers before me.
They spare me the touches and caresses but the jokes they shared come thru.

When a past lover’s name sludges out,
I try to ignore the name and thoughts of my insignificance and her being touched and
pay attention to the story.

These stories don’t sting like act of Tyrobe violating Destiny in their family bed
Dimitiri making his hands bruise Kelly’s skin and self esteem

I listen and let their pasts swirl inside of me. Knowing I have the urge to let my hands extend into the past and help in some way. But the best to be done is a promise to not be like those old lovers and show the gal that’s not how to treat a partner.

The emotional and physical energy we have for one another wrings out of our bodies and pools to create a creature bound to us–we call it our relationship.

In the space between each individual gal and myself, there floats a parabolic string that connects us regardless of our physical or emotional distance. At the crest of the parabola lives the god that is our relationship.

Emotional energy collects in the body, and the strings are highways for the energy to the gods, who hold all the feelings and actions from everyone connected.

A different tethered god exists between each gal and me. Each god has a specific temperament and sends me certain signals to affect my thoughts and actions. Some signals have lost their potency others are uncomfortably potent. In a couple cases, the signal is another language. Regardless of how my conscious attention reads it, my unconscious is a signal storage house. It uses its records as knowledge and guides me.

The stings don’t know time so they make you feel in mysterious and confusing ways when energy meant for one string finds its way into another, ending with me being disappointed in Kelly when there’s old business with Amy I’m actually being affected by.

Thinking back to the stories of the gals’ past lovers and their gods, I fear I can be another story for them to tell a future lover. I might be Amy’s Dimitri or Kelly’s Tyrobe. The gods from my past relationships may be quietly hurting the gal on the other end without either one of us knowing. I look toward older gods and see, only with the knowledge from newer gods, how ugly and decrepit they have become, and for some, how they have always been.

Thinking my relationships only lived in the past was a mistake: those gods are still tethered on a line across my collar bone sapping and sending energy which sculpts my unconscious.


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