I awake slowly, and with effort. The empty spaces of my mind feel clogged with mud and dust, and hauling thoughts out of them and into the light of consciousness is exhausting. Remembering the past or who I was seems too difficult. I am warm and comfortable in the darkness.
I must have fallen asleep again, but upon waking I think it must have only been a short nap; our bedroom is still shrouded in the light-less black velvet of the earliest morning hours.
My thoughts ebb and flow more easily now, clean sparkling waves like cool water that wash through my mind. I can remember the words you whispered in my ear as I fell asleep the night before.
“You don’t need to see.”
That moment feels so far away now, but the softness and love in your eyes as you looked at me is a treasure. I did not know what the words meant, when you said them, late in the evening after hours of bliss in your arms; but I learn your meaning very quickly, now.
I am afraid that I will be overcome with horror, but I trust you and love you more than I trust myself, and I feel truly certain that I am better this way. That the world is better this way, if you have chosen this. I feel blessed that the last thing I saw, before the darkness, was your eyes, soft brown and glowing so full of love.
If I miss any one thing, in the darkness, I miss how beautiful I felt reflected in your gaze.
Learning to exist in the world as I am now is difficult, but the way you hold me as I sob in frustration gives me strength. Even if I can no longer see the love you have for me, I can still feel it in every touch of your fingers on my body, and in the praise and encouragement you whisper into my ear.
I learn to navigate our home by touch, but it scarcely matters; if ever you are not there with me, you leave me bound, and with your rope tight on my wrists I feel as safe and loved as if I was held by your own hands.
I try to whisper this to you, one day; I struggle to use my words to represent the soul-shattering, timeless beauty that you bring to my life. I try to tell you that every touch of your skin, even after all these years, is a supernova flash of joy so overwhelming that the mere brush of your fingertips across my body, scarred and flawed and imperfect as it is, makes all of the suffering I endured before you I met you seem like a bargain. If you are the reward for all of that pain, I would endure it again gladly, ten times over, and beg to suffer more.
My voice cracks and tears flow freely; my mind simply cannot hold, all at once, how lucky I am to have you, how honored, how unworthy I feel. You hold me tightly, your cheek pressed against mine. I feel wetness on your face that is not my own, your beautiful tears in answer to mine.
“Shhh,” you whisper softly in my ear, and my heart grows calm and quiet as I nestle into your arms, my head fitting so perfectly into the crook of your neck.
“You don’t need to speak.”
I am not surprised when I awake later, my mind sluggish again, and the only sounds I can make are soft moans and whimpers.
I don’t feel any fear, which does surprise me; I feel safer, instead. Each burden of ability you lift away from me feels like freedom. I am afloat in the calm, warm ocean of your love, and if I cannot stand, if my feet do not reach the sea floor below, it is only evidence of the boundless depth of your adoration.
I would try to build a language, soft and mewling, with the vocalization you still allow me, but each time I try, you only stroke my hair, and whisper “I know,” and I believe you do. You have freed me from language, and if it takes me a little time to fully trust the wisdom of your choices, that is a failing that is mine and mine alone.
“You don’t need your hands.”
This time I cry; tears flooding the soft curves of my face and spilling down onto the bare skin of my chest. This time, I wish I still had my voice, so that I could tell you I am not afraid; I would tell you I silently prayed for this. I would tell you that my tears are only grief that I will never again feel the delicate petals of your lips on the pads of my fingers, never run them along the silk of your collarbones, never grip the soft muscles of your body as I writhe in the throes of ecstasy.
“I know,” you whisper, as though you can read my mind.
I believe you, and my heart calms. I sip from the glass that you hold to my lips, and the taste is strange and bitter and I wish I could tell you how happy I am as my mind fades into the dark.
“You don’t need your legs.”
I receive your words with a smile, and I swear I can hear feel its warmth against my own skin, reflected in your eyes, even if I cannot see them. Of course, I would say, if I could. Obviously, yes. Why did you wait so long?
My body feels lighter for their absence, more correct. Your hands can more easily reach the softest parts of me, and this would be reason enough on its own. You love me for myself, not for my eyes, my voice, my hands, my legs. As I shed these vestiges of a worthless humanity, I am more and more pure, the perfect platonic ideal of love.
My feelings for you suffuse the whole of me, and as my physical form becomes more essential, those feelings do not fade or diminish, but grow stronger and more concentrated.
In quiet moments, when you are asleep, or tending to the world I am no longer a part of, I wonder what freedom you will grant me next. I still hear, and your voice is the sweetest music I could imagine. I try to turn my face to you, when you speak, so that you know I am present. My attention is all that I have to give, and I give you every gram of it. If I had but one wish, it would be that I could give you more of myself.
I do not miss the things I had in the past. I could say that you have taken them from me, but that is not really true. I would have given them to you, freely and gladly, had you but asked. It is better, more true, more real, this way. I would give you anything, but my body, my soul, my heart— these already belong to you. They are not mine to give; and you cannot take what is already yours.
When you whisper in my ear again, I wish you could give me back the use of my legs, just this once, so that I could spring up, and let the joy that fills me to bursting radiate from my body. I wish I could hold you in my hands, in my arms, squeeze your body tight against mine, so that my gratitude could flow directly out of my skin and into yours.
I wish, only one more time, that I could speak to you, whisper in your ear how I treasure you, how my life is more full, and more complete, for having you in it. How glad I am for the gifts you have given me, how I feel so loved and so cherished. How a world that exists with you in it is a more beautiful and valuable world than I had ever thought possible.
I wish that I could see your eyes sparkle, see the way the skin crinkles at the corners of them when you smile. I wish I could see the recognition, the answering echoes of joy and love that blossom between us like a chain reaction.
I feel my head cradled gently in your hands, feel your lips brush across my cheek. Your breath, warm against my ear, is more powerful than any god or goddess all the religions of the world might conjure.
“I know,” you whisper to me, and I believe you.
If I want but one thing, in that perfect moment, it would be for you to know how thankful I am to hear you say,
“You don’t need to think.”