"All bonds chafe, that is their nature. But nothing chafes so infuriatingly than the bonds of matrimony. Because, you know, at the end of the day, your prison is your own not-so clever creation."
Lord F.Tong de Silva, Late 12th century
"Marukka den es mort" I whispered, breathlessly, into her eyelid, as she lay beneath me. Her eyes popped open, wider than, perhaps they should be... "What?.. What did you say?"
"Nothing." Our eyes drank each other into our hearts again, for a long moment. And our lips met again, eyes open, not wanting to miss anything from each other- whether it be a moment of enhanced passion or a hint of betrayal ready to be exposed by the wrong glance...
"What- Did You Say?" she asked, insistently and a little breathlessly, herself. I paused, the words had escaped me, unexpectedly. The moment had been too much, almost. I was weak in her arms. Too weak. But this was a weakness I was savoring. I pushed away the pain that was sure to come, later.
"It means 'Til we die'," I lied.
Her eyes closed in almost fairy tale passion. And I felt a moment of regret. Another second stretched out into infinity.
"No, it doesn't meant that, exactly." I stroked her face and absorbed everything I could of this second. It was so real that it became surreal. It was more than life should be, could be, is supposed to be... I never wanted it to end. I Never want it to end.
"It really means ... "Til I die". I bore in close to her neck, burying myself into her skin. And then my eyes closed, afraid to see any more.
Marukka den es mort. My passion, my altar- that I sacrifice myself onto, over and over.
He talks to Angels. And Demons. And in the end, aren't they always the same?
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Passion in itself is seductive. Combine that with insecurity, fears, desire, and need...what you get is a force to be reckoned with. It is in our passion that we find the intestinal fortitude to try ...one more time...to find that which we so desperately seek in anothers arms.
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