And just like that, my love for him swelled, it overflowed over the rim of its cup and poured all over the table like a large boundless map of a suddenly borderless unknown world, which I newly marked here, and there, and here, and at the far end of it down there where Australia used to be. This map was like our one body, all three of us – him, Mother Earth, and I – composed of 70% of a fickle matter such as water.
I marked the map of our body on the certain places where I created monarchies for lawless lands; continents formed by plate tectonics moved and shifted by love; lands whose empires are then always taken over by its very fears, its very own people. I took over territories, appointed him as King of them all, and became all of his demanding loyal people. In those vast lands where he reigned in my life and where I duly worshipped him, I chose to mark with red flags.
I loved him so much that I started fearing the loss of him. I clung to the edges of his cliffs with my small and calloused hands and their brittle bitten nails, even though there were beautiful primeval lands to walk across to reach him. I flung myself off of many edges and held on at the brink of falling, to somewhat show him how long I could endure; or perhaps to offer him yet another opportunity to save me.
I didn’t get the point. He was never interested in my theatrical martyrdom to preserve his eminent kingship. But I had to do something to demonstrate my service to his necessary ruling power, notwithstanding what type of king he was, or if he wanted to be one at all.
I loved him beyond recognition. It distorted his handsome kind facial features and made him look charmingly unyielding. It clouded his pure intentions and suffocated him with a sense of ceaseless giving. It aged him. He gave and gave to his people mostly because he wanted to, but partly because he was obliged. It was never enough, however, kings can never give enough.
It never mattered how much he gave, it mattered how much more he had that he could have given. Even that he gave to begin with didn’t matter. It did not pacify my noisy disturbing love for him. I loved him beyond all five senses until my senses turned against me, and it was no longer him I loved but the fear of losing him that I adored. I idolized that fear. I became its most loyal follower and a traitor to my king.
Those of us who love too much are dangerously capable of overthrowing a king from his throne, disempowering him, unforgiving to the discovery that he, like us, is also tainted with the vulnerability of ordinary humanness. We have an accidental power to be manipulative when we love; we can be cunning if we don’t watch out. We should be like those superheroes that are afraid of the destructive aptitudes of their own power. Despite our purest intentions, we are driven by a fear of being wrongly governed or ruled, or worse, neglected or misunderstood; and fear is the smartest generator of the strongest military coups bringing down the greatest of empires. History confirms that, and so do legendary love stories.
Along these lines, and just like that, my love for him condensed, it had to if I were to love him. Its contents remained contained within the rim of the cup and reflected upon its surface is now a most recent map of the world known to all, with its continents and oceans and Australia right where it should be. It is a clean map, unmarked with red. It is only the same as my borderless map in that it is still made up of 70% of fickle matter such as water. Just like our bodies. Just like love.
The torrents of my love for him are now passive, calm, non-fictional, and he is able to swim in such waters as a free citizen, no longer confined in the obligations of a king to lawless monarchies ruling elusive lands. No longer burdened by the high maintenance fear of others from him, or over him. No longer pumped with the draining adrenaline of saving a demanding citizen from edges of cliffs and mountains and waterfalls.
I relinquish the power I had over him within that overflown boundless map of a world unknown to him, a world where I loved him too much for him to bear. Here in this world he is safe, there exist laws of nature and lawful ways to love; far and sheltered from revolution led by a dangerous fear of loss. Nothing and no one is toppled over, nor does anyone need rescuing, so long as some of us are capable of containing our loud, raucous, outpouring bottomless love reasonably within its physical palpable confines.
By Beisan A. Alshafei
Written on June, 2019
Beisan's Burble 