Corybantic

candle_corybantic.jpgcorybantic

  1. frenzied; agitated; unrestrained.
  2. (initial capital letter) of or relating to a Corybant.

It’s one of those nights again. The nights when I’m startled awake. Usually it’s a nightmare that jars me. This time it’s the thunder. It’s one of the reasons I hate the Midwest, with it’s thunderstorms that seem to shake the very foundations of our three-bedroom house.

I’m so startled that I reach out for you. But your side of the bed is cold, empty and my soul starts to bleed again.

It’s like this most nights, waking from one nightmare into another one, only this other nightmare doesn’t go away. It doesn’t recede regardless of how much I blink or attempt to shake myself awake.

You are still gone.

My wedding band catches the slight glow of the cinnamon candle I’ve left burning.

You used to tell me how dangerous that was, leaving candles burning like that. You’d say, “Kat, nothing is romantic about accidentally setting the house on fire and being asphyxiated as you sleep.”

And I used to laugh and fall asleep in your arms, feeling the safest I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

Now I don’t feel safe. Without you I feel alone and exposed. These emotions inspire corybantic thoughts to shoot through my consciousness. I begin to think how good it might be to have everything go up in flames and see you again.

The candle hisses as the flame completely dies. The smell of smoke intertwines with cinnamon as I close my eyes and wrap myself around your cold pillow. I try to inhale you, but you’re not there. The man who loved me, married me, and dragged me from East Coast is gone. I warm your pillow with my tears as I drift off to sleep.

 

 

 

 

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