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Very often, when I can’t sleep, my mind starts to wander. And that, more often than not, is not a good thing because it grants liberty to the voices and then to the bad thoughts.

So I divert it, trick it, preoccupy it.

Last night, whilst not able to sleep, I sat in front of the fire looking into the flames and I wondered how I would react if instead of it being me who suffered with mental health issues such as Schizophrenia and Bipolar disorder it was a loved one, a lover if you will.

Just how would I feel if I had a lover and if she had Bipolar Disorder instead of me…

She…

She fell,
Ashen and spent.
So fragile and delicate,
upon the hard granite hearth
that is her illness.

Static and empty.
The smallest of movements
created by the gentle wisps of breath
that encapsulated her.

And in her stillness
such beauty and yet such despair.
such fragility and yet such grace.

-oOo-

Only moments before I had been watching,
watching for what seemed like an eternity.
As she danced, spun, toppled, soared, dived, leapt.
Dancing involuntarily to the tune played
by the heat of the fire that is the mania

A fire that I could no more extinguish for her,
than experience for myself.

But now that fire has let her go.
Ashen and spent,
fragile and delicate
she lays before me
and before another world
her other world.

A world as dark, as desperate, and as hopeless
as the fire was radiant and fulfilling and alive.
Another world I truly cannot enter for her
or even hope that I could keep from her.

-oOo-

She.

She is beauty

She is wonderment

She is fire and she is ice

She is flame and she is ash

she is need and she is fulfilment

She.

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