Jupiter, You're Only a Star

It is said that as you grow older certain memories shine through the dense blur that is your life. As an elder, humans often reflect on the "What ifs." Not in regret, but in natural curiosity. Which is perfectly understandable, because what is life without the persistent enigma? And although I will never survey my life, pointing out my apparent flaws. I will always wonder who I would be today without those who've changed my life in ways beyond reason.

He may come upon this. That prospect is unconceivable, and I am not prepared to deal with the circumstances. However, I can't just keep quiet anymore. When I was a little girl, I was taught to not speak unless spoken to. That wasn't because I was a child, it was for the ignorant fact I was indeed a female. Not everyone in the south is like this anymore. Yet, my father was living in a time before the modern world. A place where women were useful for only two purposes; to have children, and please their husbands. And although I no longer reside in those particular circumstances, they will nevertheless follow me well into adulthood. This is my reasoning for not letting the proverbial cat out of the bag.

So what is this dark secret I have been keeping just beyond the shadows? To you it may mean nothing, be something frivolous, but disconcerting. That still doesn't change the fact that to me, it's an emotional battle. A war raging inside my subconscious, and I haven't the necessary weaponry to win the struggle. I dream of being victorious, but even in my sleep I know it's just that. A dream. But that's enough rambling; I should get to the point.

Two years ago, I encountered someone at a very confusing point in my life. The truths that I had built myself upon came tumbling down. And I stood there in the debris of my scattered existence, utterly lost. Then he came from the wreckage, at first his presence was vague, and transparent among all I had lost. Yet, with time I realized he was the light that shone, guiding back to normalcy. I dare not speak his name, for names are power, and I can not proclaim dominance over this man. So for the time being we will refer to him as James.

James was a freelance writer, published, recognized, with a magnificent mind. His intelligence was uncanny; it's only competition being his gallant charm. I would regard James as being one of those men from another era. A period in time which love and literature not only flourished, but were the center of society it's self. Yes, he was the pure, unmistakable definition of a Victorian gentleman. To him courting was an undying art, and I couldn't help from falling hopelessly in love with him.

Being wise beyond my years I knew to remain suspicious of his exact intentions. As it was common knowledge to me, that I wasn't astonishing enough to capture his affection for long. I once spoke of my concerns to him, and he was in a word indignant. Angered beyond reason that I would categorize him in such a way, and after the initial blow I was assured there was no one else. Admittedly I felt extraordinary, that he, who could have anyone woman desired, was putting me upon a pedestal. God may damn me, but I enjoyed being the object of his wanting, and need.

Then something happened, he'd disappear for drawn out periods of time. I the constant cynic feared the worst, but when he returned it was as if nothing happened. For two years we'd talk until sunrise, and there never was a bald spot in our conversations. Yet, surely as that sun would rise, he would again vanish. This time for days, until days became weeks. During his various departures I found myself growing depressed, and physically ill. My friends, blessed be their souls, did everything they could to comfort me. But I was becoming bitter towards them and their relentless intrusions. In truth, I wanted to ignore everything I was feeling. I am not one to wear my heart on my sleeve, let along actually admit the current situation was painful to me. Self denial has always been my route. Therefore I began making excuses as to why he wasn't around anymore, when in angered truth I didn't know myself. The lies were comforting, but even I knew they wouldn't restrain the agony running ramped through my veins, like a hurricane just below the surface.

The world and I have never come to an agreement; it kept spinning when I had long since been thrown off. Regardless of my rough exterior, a friend came through. Offering the stone cold theory that James was my drug, and I was literally going through withdrawals in his absence. The reality of that statement came crashing down, just as he took one last step off the planet, and surprisingly my world didn't come to a halt.

So what was the point in all of this? Well, it's rather simple. You see, every fiber of my being is afraid, afraid that no one will ever compare to him. And thus far, I haven't been proven wrong. Right now, as we speak there is a man trying to gain my affections. A wonderful, kind, patient, hell enduring man who is stopping at nothing to love me. But I can't make myself love him with the intensity as I loved James, and that's what scares me most. As James knew me on some paranormal level, allowing him to not only capture my heart, but my very soul in his hands.

"Kindred spirits." He once called it, saying it's the only title that could ever do our relationship justice. I would laugh, and tell him that on his way home to stare at the sky, and to know that I was viewing the very same velvet canvas as he was.

And even though, I know it may be foolish, and down right dangerous. Every time I look up at the night sky and see Jupiter. I know without hesitation, that he's gazing upon that very same light. As he was only the love of my life, and Jupiter, well... Jupiter you're only a star.