THE FATHER AND THE LOVER

The night was cold, but the lover provided warmth. With him, I am always warm, externally but never internally. The moments I am warm inside are far and in between, but what a small price to pay to live as I do. To live on my conscience and follow no strict rules or dictates. Like the words of my father. I liked being unbounded and free, but I have found that I also desired order and discipline.

As I lay in his warmth, enjoying what I could of the silence, my mind moved to you. You say you loved me before I was born and waited patiently, counting the days till I came into the world. You stood by me as I learned to walk, talk, run…fall. You were there for the victories and the failures.

You said you knew the first words out of my mouth before I spoke. You told me you knew many things, and as I lay in the darkness, I wonder if you knew I’d be lost in the enticing allure of the lover’s words. Did you know I’d leave, seduced to this new life outside you? Did you grieve for me before it happened, watching as I took the path that led to nothing but regret? Were you aware of it all? The confusion and loneliness I’d feel? Did you mourn, unsurprised the first day I turned away from you?

His words were like honey, alluring me away from what I knew was right. After years of constructing that he led me down the path I followed, I have come to a more heartbreaking conclusion. I was on my own all those times. All he did was support me in destructive decisions you would have counselled me out of. I guess that’s where the addiction came in, to have someone who backed my every thought without calculating if it was the right thing to do.

But somehow, through everything, your voice lingered. How strange that I never heard it as strongly as I did after I left your shelter. Soon, the things I enjoyed became heavyweights that bore on my heart. The freedom I cherished became a prison I dreamed of escaping. The lover that kept me warm and stayed by me through years of moral neglect began to fade into the darkness where he thrived.

And your voice, one I heard faintly in the past and often misunderstood, began to ring clear.

I stood from the bed, leaving the lover behind as, mindlessly, I walked to your door. I don’t knock. I can’t. I am ashamed because I have been here before. Begging, crying, determined, I came and knocked. Without hesitation, you let me in. You saw my heart and forgave me, but it didn’t last.

The lover came again then, and I resisted. The first day, then the second and the third, but it didn’t last.

I left again, seeking his warmth, listening to the mysterious allure of his voice. I don’t understand why. I knew he was bad for me, but still, I didn’t stop myself from running into destruction. Then, when it all blows away, the rush fades, and I get lost in my mind, I desire to hear you. I run to you for shelter, and you see my heart. You understand my pain, and you welcome me back, only for me to do it all over again.

How do I knock now? I wonder. My eyes are on the door that you have readily opened time and time again.

But I knock anyway. The worst you can do is turn me away.

But you find me again.

You let me in, welcoming me back as you did all other times.

I leave the lover behind and follow you back home. I wash his words from my ears, his influence from my lips, and illusions from my eyes. I settle, once again, for a life of freedom under order.

Time passed, and his voice returned, soft whispers flittering in the wind. I hear them everywhere when my brain is idle, and he slithers into my thoughts. But I am on this path again and intend to keep my head towards my goal. I don’t turn when he offers his warmth because my skin remembers how it burned in the past. I don’t listen when he offers support because my heart has carried the ache of all those bad decisions. I am unmoved when he offers comfort because I know it is only a facade.

I follow the voice of my father and ignore the voices in the back of my head. He is never far. I don’t know if I’d ever be rid of him. I don’t know if I’d ever go back to him.

But as only my father knows the future, I walk on.