I’m reading a book. I usually am 🙂 The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub.
It’s about a boy named Jack Sawyer. Travellin’ Jack. He journeys to find the Talisman, the Key of all possible realities, to save his mother and Queen Laura. It’s a difficult journey. made more so by some of the more “upstanding” citizens of the world. But he learns about himself. He survives. He becomes stronger. And he makes friends. Only one, really. Wolf. Right here and now!
Wolf dies though. Saving Jack’s life. And Jack is faced with shame for wanting to abandon Wolf when the going got tough. And he realises how much Wolf really meant to him – only after he lost him.
I’ve read this book before, a long time ago. I sort of still know the story. But when I read it last night, I cried as if my heart was broken. I cried because Wolf had to die. I cried because he dies inelegantly, but with grace. I cried because I knew what it would do to Jack. And I cried because of about six million other reasons.
During the bout, I was thinking. About hearing Stardust on the way home. “The memory of love’s refrain” About missing something I once had, even while knowing it could never be again. I cried because of the convoluted webs we weave. The constant search for some kind of meaning to our existence, not always realising that you should not have to go searching for your meaning on the outside. You have to find it in yourself. I thought about the dudes I’m currently conversing with. One, not a prospect at all, but somebody that seems to need something without knowing what, chatting the night away, saying things that I don’t want to hear from him. In my mind he will only ever be a cyberpal, and that can not change. But he seems to want more. Much more than I will ever be able to give him. I have to make him understand this, but feelings are going to get hurt.
Then I think about the other guy, still sitting in Sudan. Wanting to find a wife, somebody to trust, somebody to look after him and his best interests while he’s travelling the world. And he’s a good man as far as I can tell. He does not laugh at hormonal females, does not scoff at the things I feel, but we’ve never met. And I would be disappointed if we do meet and nothing happens. And that’s a very real threat – it’s happened before. But, what needs to happen, will.
I am just not always able to keep calm about it. Sometimes all these things happen and it dumps on you and you have to take a bit of time out, think about it. Sometimes, as with last night, you have a cathartic cry about it. And sometimes you just cry for all the broken hearts, and the high walls and the lost chances and the dead dreams. Futile tears for the most part. But they, like the dead emotions, the forgiveness, the hurt must come out. You have to cry them, futility or no. It cleanses you. As if you’re washing away the current hurt.
Of course, all these things get worse when hormones are involved, but hormones do not negate those feelings. It just makes you feel it a bit more pronounced than usual.
It’s been one of those kinds of weeks. the ones where you know you have much to be thankful for, but you sometimes miss something. And you can’t quite put a finger on what…
Hope yours has been good and that the weekend will just be spectacular!!