A Twin Flame Allegory

I was bleeding, pierced through with a sword and for months and months I bled, I cried, I felt I was dying. I tried to adjust my position so the sword wouldn't press into my soul as hard. I sought professional help to remove the sword, but no one understood how deep the sword penetrated, they didn't understand it's force. No one knew what to do with it. Everyone just looked at me as though I was whole, when I was not. They looked like it either wasn't even there, or like it was meant to be there and could not understand why I was pale, weak, immobile.

In time, I made some peace with the sword and it's presence. I passed up many opportunities where the sword's appearance would be destructive or too startling. I found ways to clean up the blood that oozed from my skin twenty-four seven so most would never see it. I found ways to dress to hide the protuberance. I found ways to laugh in spite of the pain. I found ways to move so that the blood flowed slower from my body, but all the while, I questioned the sword.

I cried and blamed the sword for killing me. I asked why. I begged the sword
to stop. I never asked for the pain. I never asked for it to impale me. The sword never answered, only apologized, as if it didn't know anymore than I, why it had become a part of me.

Time went on and I grew weak. I grew tired. I grew angrier and angrier.

I felt helpless.

I felt drained.

I felt ruined.

One day I decided this was bad, life should not be this way, I could not live this way. I grabbed the sword by the bejeweled hilt, I drew deep, forced my attention to something else and I pulled fast and hard, tearing the sword from my body and heaving it far from me.

I lay in the cold damp grass, my breathing ragged, thinking, it is done.

I smiled. Now I could heal. Now I could be normal and not carry that heavy awful thing around with me all the time... I was sad.

I looked across the yard where I'd thrown the sword and realized that I would miss it. In fact, that I loved it.

No matter, what was done, had to be done. No one can walk around bleeding with a sword injury forever. I was going to heal now. I was going to be all right. I was going to get my life back.

I gathered my strength, I stood. I walked away.

I was weak, but while I healed, I would focus everything I had into my work. I would create something beautiful, making the time with the sword have meaning. I would immortalize the sword.

Time went by, I was not feeling stronger.

I grew weaker.

And weaker.

I refused to believe that was true. I must be gaining strength, it was probably just how much of myself I was putting into the creation. I kept my focus and carried on.

More time passed.

I couldn't sleep.

I cried all the time.

I wouldn't eat.

I could barely stand.

I looked down at where my wound had been, perhaps it had somehow become infected, but that could be treated.

Only...

When I looked... I was stunned to see my wound had not healed, not one bit, in truth I was now hemorrhaging.

There was blood gushing from my wound so fast. How I had not died from this already was beyond me, but I was very near death and frightened. I had no idea what to do. If I could not stem the gushing, I would surely die.

I tried reaching for help. I tried bandages. I tried rest, not moving.

HELP ME.

I cried.

I was dying.

I knew nothing else to do but surrender to the pain, the dark, the end of everything.

The sword appeared.

It was back, but it was afraid of me. It was hurt. It was unsure.

I'll never know why, but despite it's own pain, the sword reinserted itself into my soul, stemming the flow of blood instantly. I am back to merely drizzling blood again.

Now I will rest.

Now I will heal.

When day breaks in the morning I do not know what I will find, but I know this... I WILL live now. Somehow the sword and I have become one and only with it's impaling am I whole.