Source of the picture: L&E facebook
One year ago, I lost my ship.
Yes. A ship. With people not made of flesh and blood, but that affected me as much as what I could touch. They felt like personal friends, with hearts that throbbed and ached; a pulse I could feel under fingertips, rushing, threatening to overflow.
Laura and Edgar metaphorically bled, so many times.
And I bled with them.
It was a complete journey; as I witnessed them grow together and apart, scenes showing the depths of their love, in contrast with the emptiness that followed absence. Moments juxtaposing either to reinforce the beautiful parallels of narrative, or it was used as irony, to mock with cruelty words and actions of characters that were complex and beautiful by their own, but that didn’t feel all that wholesome apart. The love of soulmates.
“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”
It was a story of intellectual matches, who loved each other over and over, in all possible versions of themselves, with different names and at different points of life. A love of constant rediscover, remaining the same after reinvention and growth, that had destiny crafting something that had to be earned, tested.
"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it,
eight years and a half six years ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.”
The wedding ring he kept on his finger for six years was a symbol of devotion; the flowers he used to bring to their room represented everything they gained and lost. It was a story of love that persisted, and was alive through symbolism. Spamming time. “Every single day”, as they spoke, a new wedding vow.
But it was short, so short.
Maybe it was a trade. I would find perfect love, but I would have loose it shortly after. This OTP tamed my wounded heart, and gave me everything I wished in a couple: love, angst, sensuality.
One year ago, I gained and lost my OTP.
But such as their love, mine resist time.