Imprint

You imprinted my spirit. 

Our first interaction was so deeply connected by the movement of our bodies.

The suspense of the unknown, catapulted by the excitement of meeting you for the first time—yet knowing you mentally for extensions beyond our physical interaction. 

I was perplexed by your stare.

Confused by how this being, this individual—who I have yet to physically comprehend, could understand me so clearly, so intimately.

Intertwined by attraction, grounded by movement, joined in laughter. 

 I felt safe. 

Unpersuaded to go any further than I wanted to, empowered by my ability to say no and hold the upper hand. A dominant-submissive. Without intercourse. Conversation in the most penetrative form. 

I think back to our first date often, an imprinted memory of simpler times, before "Us" was solidified. The available opportunity to discover and find “Us”, apart from trauma or community interference.

When public isolation was an accepted form of relational discovery. 

The evening of the incident was a muddy imprint. A culmination of bubbling-hidden anger, pacified in fire.

How incredibly dark the fire my body felt was, examined by you, in panic.

A mentally removed moment in spiritual dissolve of what we used to be—transporting us into “soon-to-be”, unfamiliar beings of rage. 

I saw you, die in that moment. 

We both died. Surrounded by a community of strangers, witnessing our spiritual dissolve, as I lay in the bloody puddled angst of our silent mental scramble. 

I felt safe. 

You were there, available to answer my confusion as I lay on the concrete, wounded in my puddle. You hid your pain with expected discretion—always putting my needs before yours. Unable to comprehend my surroundings, I was fully reliant on your care—the delicacies of submissive comprehension, revolted by pain. 

I'd mentally blocked out sound in this out-of-body disturbance—fire in the highest form.

When would this stop? Where did it come from? Why am I bleeding? 

The warmth of the concrete felt shallow in comparison to what I needed from you. An impossible request of soothing to remove this violation. 

My screaming.

I wonder how it sounded to your ears? How did it imprint your spirit?

Sensory overload, remedied by a community of strangers, witnessing our spiritual dissolve as we shifted into the unsolicited reality of our mental scramble. 

What happens when your spirit leaves your body? Where does it go?

 #BloodandRubies