Sometimes, I want to forget all the facts in the situation, all the words, all the reasons, all the reality, and I find myself thinking that an evil spirit stole my darling boy away from me. he came back to me so suddenly, with that card after eighteen years, and then he was gone, in less time than it took me to blink, after reading another woman’s love note to him.
‘He was stolen away, he was stolen away,’ i find myself thinking at the strangest times, and i don’t blame the other woman for ‘stealing’ him, that’s absurd, she held no gun to his head, he acted on his own free will. But it make sense on a spiritual level, perhaps on the level of a little girl who believes in fairy tales (who I still am- not homogenized disney crap but the Brothers Grimm) that he was stolen, that he was taken.
When I think this, I feel better somehow. Perhaps the metaphor fits the feeling that a great evil force ripped its way into my chest cavity and ripped out my heart in one moment on a Tuesday morning last October. If he was stolen away, then it is not his fault, and it is not my fault, and it is not the other woman’s fault. it is the fault of the evil spirit which stole him.