A Pair of ‘Waterproof’ Air Max and a Pair of ‘Waterproof’ Souls

letters_to_antoinette_soulsA Pair of ‘Waterproof’ Air Max and a Pair of ‘Waterproof’ Souls
I’ve been staring at the screen for hours trying to force put my thoughts on paper. My initial idea was to talk about my brand new Waterproof Air Max’s: how I’m finally ready for the Danish winter and all that.
But just as I was about to talk about how to style your Air Max’s – it all felt way too fake & dull.
I used to prepare blogposts that aimed to motivate and inspire… How the hell did I end up dedicating a whole article to a pair of shoes!?
But what an easier way to get away from talking about my feelings, past and how it haunts me in the present.
For years I’ve been taking the role of the listener, the one to turn to for advice, a role that had kept me cosily snuggled right there within my comfort zone up until I started blogging and finally opened up to the world.
I’d been training my soul like a soldier – dissociating myself form my feelings, phobias, and fears.
People see me as brave, impulsive, and crazy enough to go for my gut when everything was making it clear that I should opt for the safe. And while I’m doing my best to maintain my ‘feelingsproof’ image in front of the world, when I end all by myself my soul gets stripped of its protective shield.
There were occasions that made me think I’d end up joining the ‘AA’, having on average a bottle of wine a day. The only thing that made me let my feelings out. My fears. My wildly running thoughts that haven’t found the answer to why we inhabit that Earth. For the sake of love? Making babies? Making a change?
I have so many things I wanna share – but I feel I just can’t force myself to speak up. Because ‘speaking’ up means coming to terms with ‘reality’ and blissful oblivion seems more luring than anything else.
I thought that ‘loss’ was something that occurred solely in the movies. Something that you’re safe from and only hear about.
I’d never experienced loss before I lost my soulmate almost a month ago. The person I spoke to only with eyes. We always ‘knew’ when something was wrong, we felt it. There was no need to share or ask questions – we just ‘knew’ no matter the physical distance that stood between us.
She  was ‘feelingsproof’ too .. two singles that made the perfect pair – yes, that’s what we were. We laughed at things that people found bizarre. Our talks made the strangers raise an eyebrow. Our laughter made you blush and leave the room in a blink of an eye. We grew ‘adults’ together, but refused to go for what the other ‘adults’ saw as ‘right’.
Our ‘right’ was left.
And left meant – seeing the world creatively, speaking back to it sarcastically, and writing about it with the left hand. 
She’s always there – in my dreams, in my thoughts. When I sip my wine I say cheers, looking right at her big green eyes.
When I walk down the street I feel the rough asphalt scratching my sole, just as her more and more perceptible absence tears into pieces my soul.
She’s the only piece of art that I ever came to understand. Art that shakes you to the core. Art that you want to have all for yourself, but you know that you’d never be able to claim the right to to possess.
That’s what she was.
The Cool Wind.
The Passionate Fire.
The Deep Water.
The confident stranger, who walks towards you with edge – using the Earth as her stage.

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