Without the Extremes
Dream
His name was Robin, and he spoke with a Welsh accent that I could still hear in my dreams. His voice was rich, silky butterscotch; it soothed my heart like hot cocoa in a blizzard. His eyes were the same in that they were calming; Ocean blue-green with a hint of orange around the edges. He radiated softness in all the man that he was. Tranquility. That’s what it really was. Everything he did was enveloped in this sense of peace and serenity. No matter how loud he spoke, there was always a sense of underlying quietness. And if he walked, he glided, as if his feet barely brushed the hard ground. Though his body illustrated masculinity and strength with his solid jaw and muscular arms, his demeanor suggested something else; a separate identity that did not fit the body it was placed in. He refused to show any sign of weakness, but understood how to console the feeblest of souls. He was never insulting, nor was he afraid to speak truth to those who did not wish to hear it. He had a unique ability to enjoy being alone. He never depended on anyone else, and he never depended on me. And I loved him. For all that he was and was not and for all that he did not need from me, I loved him.
I heard him from behind me, and I turned, but he wasn’t there. There were only trees, miles and miles of trees lining a path to nowhere. Knowing not where I was, or where he could possibly be, I spun around in circles. I kept turning. And I couldn’t see him but I could hear him. I heard him speak words that I’d never heard him say before. He spoke of being broken, pleading for someone to find him, to fix him. I’d never known him to be the slightest bit flawed or damaged, and I felt a kind of panic in some desperate corner of my heart. I continued my search, but wherever I looked he wasn’t there, so I closed my eyes and listened. His words seemed to come slower now but with a heightened urgency in their inflection, so I followed them to a field that I’d never really seen before but it felt somewhat familiar. And I could see him sitting there, with bloodied hands and tear stricken eyes, but when I ran to him, he was gone. But I kept running to the place I’d seen him sitting, and I spun around countless times until his voice spoke again. It was quieter now, but I could hear his whispered cries of anguish. I walked slowly now, not wanting to make any noise that would overpower his fragile voice. Suddenly I fell through the ground, landing in a heap of feathers, and he was there looking down, face forlorn and strained by the pain in his hand. But he wasn’t moving, or speaking. So I walked towards him and he looked at me and suddenly his body cracked like glass into hundreds of little shards. I picked up a piece of him, and saw through it onto the ground. There had to be a thousand pieces of him lying there. I felt a tear fall onto my cheek. It rested there in the calmness, the silent stillness that mirrored the tranquility Robin had always emanated to the world. It was his soul that surrounded me, invisible, yet large enough to fill the dark and empty space. It was him, who he always was beneath the strength. He was, in this place, both the person I had seen and the person he’d kept hidden. The peace and the brokenness. And I finally understood him without being blinded by the hard outside or the love I felt for him. He encompassed me and I awoke from my understanding, leaving behind both the paramount and the pathetic. And without the extremes, I loved him again.
I heard him from behind me, and I turned, but he wasn’t there. There were only trees, miles and miles of trees lining a path to nowhere. Knowing not where I was, or where he could possibly be, I spun around in circles. I kept turning. And I couldn’t see him but I could hear him. I heard him speak words that I’d never heard him say before. He spoke of being broken, pleading for someone to find him, to fix him. I’d never known him to be the slightest bit flawed or damaged, and I felt a kind of panic in some desperate corner of my heart. I continued my search, but wherever I looked he wasn’t there, so I closed my eyes and listened. His words seemed to come slower now but with a heightened urgency in their inflection, so I followed them to a field that I’d never really seen before but it felt somewhat familiar. And I could see him sitting there, with bloodied hands and tear stricken eyes, but when I ran to him, he was gone. But I kept running to the place I’d seen him sitting, and I spun around countless times until his voice spoke again. It was quieter now, but I could hear his whispered cries of anguish. I walked slowly now, not wanting to make any noise that would overpower his fragile voice. Suddenly I fell through the ground, landing in a heap of feathers, and he was there looking down, face forlorn and strained by the pain in his hand. But he wasn’t moving, or speaking. So I walked towards him and he looked at me and suddenly his body cracked like glass into hundreds of little shards. I picked up a piece of him, and saw through it onto the ground. There had to be a thousand pieces of him lying there. I felt a tear fall onto my cheek. It rested there in the calmness, the silent stillness that mirrored the tranquility Robin had always emanated to the world. It was his soul that surrounded me, invisible, yet large enough to fill the dark and empty space. It was him, who he always was beneath the strength. He was, in this place, both the person I had seen and the person he’d kept hidden. The peace and the brokenness. And I finally understood him without being blinded by the hard outside or the love I felt for him. He encompassed me and I awoke from my understanding, leaving behind both the paramount and the pathetic. And without the extremes, I loved him again.