Love, Impossible


Everyone knew them. The whole city knew them; clamoured to witness their epic love, wanting front row seats to be in the presence of Love beyond love.

Everyone wanted to be in their arena, these two women in achingly ferocious love, wrapped gently around and in each other, crazy sameness, passionate differences, incited by the rings of each other’s orbit, the core of each other’s being.

Everyone held their breath as they watched them walk close, holding hands, wandering together through clouds, over water, through trees and in dreams and talking, foreheads touching, about the thing that happened; everyone noticing that it happens the next day, which is not possible. Is it?

Everyone sighed. With them all things seemed possible. Them together. Words beyond words. Thoughts shared as they formed. For seven years it was them, and then life’s fork in the road, the one that demanded a choice or perhaps a sacrifice.

For seven years it was them and then it was not. They were in free fall that didn’t feel free at all. Life tangled and warped and spiralled around them. They dug in, hiding in their different corners, unable to see each other. They fell into the ground, defeated. Announcing Love, Impossible. They would no longer be.

Everyone left. There were tears for a year. There are tears still.

Time has passed. The city is quieter now. Lonelier without them. They’ve each moved away to other countries. Other lovers. They say hello on occasion. Ask after each other through mutual friends. And yet? And yet. Everyone says there’s a love sutra, the threads that stretch between those souls who’ve been cleaved from each other. And yet. There is an ocean between them.

At certain times the threads vibrate; when their thoughts wave to each other in dreams that vanish before morning, snippets of which reverberate as they make their morning tea. When they look out the window to see another world that wanted to be. But hearts defeated have swift access to Mind and once called, Mind closes the door as she starts to wonder about Her, a world away, as she starts to furrow her brow to wonder about Love, Impossible. Mind takes her elsewhere, somewhere safer.


What I have given you,
will never be a burden,
what I gave you
was always yours,
the flower or the wood,
the word or walls,
food of fleeting
love, resting or burning
in our hands.
But all
I gave you,
all I give you,
all I extend to you,
will contain this secret

Sonnet, by Pablo Neruda


About FS

Toronto, Canada. Writing about slices of life, the moments and minor details of which come into awareness or out of imagination and the spaces inbetween. On hiatus from writing ... at least for now.
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9 Responses to Love, Impossible

  1. tomboy says:

    I didn’t understand this the first time I read it. I wasn’t at that stage, wasn’t supposed to understand it. And then I woke up yesterday and realized. The girl I like likes me. Suddenly, I saw all the signs- everything was there. How was I so blind, am I still blinded? Suddenly, she is in every dream, in every word, in every song, in every person and in every thought. I’ve probably just gone all teenage-wacky and I don’t understand it properly myself. The point is though, I am on holiday. I won’t see, or talk, or listen to her beautiful voice, or hear her singing to me her for five weeks. Five weeks. Love, Impossible?

    • FS says:

      Dear Tomboy: You? Gone all teenage-wacky? Over the fact that the girl you like likes you too? Imagine that! ;-). And why not? You seem quite likable. What a wonderful end of year gift. Doesn’t sound like Love Impossible to me so much as Love, Interrupted for a time. (Hmm next post?) And yes, She will be everywhere, anywhere, all the time, in everything you see, do, hear, touch, wonder about. Welcome to the Love Club. Price of Entry is that feverish obsession and you’ve demonstrated it admirably.

      Five weeks, huh..? Are you at some remote outpost not connected to civilization? No emails? No Texts? No pictures? Don’t you have some songs to write? Moon to howl at? Smoke signals to send? Runs to do? Push-ups, crunches, books to read, music to listen to, sleep to have? 😉 Just remember to breathe deeply: the time will pass whether you want it to or not and the world will fold and five weeks will be done and you will hear her songs again.

      • tomboy says:

        I see you are taking a holiday. Well, if that post idea didn’t give you enough to think about, here are some more. How about Love, Interpreted, or even better Love, Inevitable? Time makes the heart grow fonder. One and a half weeks down and feeling cheerful. Looking forward to those posts.=)

      • FS says:

        Tomboy: A wee holiday. Thank you for noticing. Just a bit of holiday busy-ness and wondering what to write about next, and pondering — deeply — this article, which you might find interesting.

        Five weeks can pass quickly … honest.

        Let me ponder all that you’ve suggested and get back to you.

  2. bookishbutch says:

    Maybe a Hermes, that is what a wordsmith such as yourself would use in my opinion.
    A classy classic, I hear the cadence now, do you? 🙂

    • FS says:

      It would seem, dear BB, that you have a few lines yourself. Hermes…? Gorgeous. Well designed. Classic and classy. I do hear it. Hermes, the messenger of the gods? Also the god of literature and poets, and a few other things. Have you one in your shop… a la that famous bookstore in Paris who makes space for writers?

  3. bookishbutch says:

    They were in free fall that didn’t feel free at all. Nice line:-)

    • FS says:

      BB: I am not censoring — you’d think that a reaction to a single lined comment…would be simple enough, but no. I can’t call all my peeps at the moment and say…do you know what BB said???? About a line I wrote?? And they’ll all say, who’s BB and what line and what’s it part of cause they work in offices and will not have read anything yet, and it would take waaaay too long to explain, because it takes some finesse to explain Blunnies, so let me share with you the unfolding of reactions:

      Immediate reaction: wow. I got a ‘nice line’ from BB–she who lives and breathes and reads lines in books, stories in books, is all about…words… (not including hockey and a few other things) Wow.
      Then of course, came the waves of reactions:
      first reaction was cheeky: I have a few nice lines here and there 😉
      second reaction: Hmm…hope the others were passable.
      third reaction: wow. Wow. Thank you. And the wow is ‘cuz you read lots of lines.
      fourth reaction: wow, thank you.
      Fifth reaction — I was thinking about keying that line on a typewriter and the cadence of it. 😉

      so thank you.

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