The Dreadful DivisionDecember 6th, 2010 by Sharkchild
I saw my love across the way; she was so close, but I could not hold her or touch her face. There was a river between us, raging with monstrous force. It was a small, but Dreadful Division. My voice cracked as I screamed to her and screamed to her and screamed to her; it was all I could do: scream her name, scream our love, scream against the separation and the pain. She screamed back, but it was hard to make out her words.
There was no one near to help and the river raged for miles. Our minds were turning frantic and logic began to stray. There was desperation between us—anxiousness and impatience. All we wanted was the fulfillment of our feelings: touch—to fulfill love’s reality, to prove its existence. We could not stand the disconnection, this Dreadful Division of love.
We decided to jump together and ride the river until we could meet, but it was not a well-thought out plan for such a dangerous feat. A waterfall awaited, high and mighty the fall, with its base as a village of rocks that stood sharply tall. We did not have the chance to hold each other or call the other’s name. We saw panic in one another’s eyes, but even the sight of each other in turbulent waters we could not accurately aim. To die together would not have been a full loss, but I lived on while my love got buried beneath a cross.