#and entirely preposterous

Achilles

We fool ourselves into omnipotence. It’s the way you treat me, with such unquestioning adoration, it’s hard not to buy into your belief when there’s such conviction. But the omnipotence is a beautiful lie, and occasionally it’s going to be tested, and it’s going to come up short. 

Words fail, and I falter. Platitudes bubble up to the front of my mind like a foaming mouth, rabid nerves jittering around before I pin them down and say nothing, instead. There’s nothing to say, no problem of evil to crush between the trifecta of omnis. The insurmountable, the unfixable, defeats me. 

But then this isn’t a relationship that’s supposed to crush all problems underfoot like a wayward troll stomping through the brush. It’s not supposed to be unassailable, unaffected. Issues aren’t supposed to ricochet from us as if we were armoured. It’s not about ignoring the hits, it’s about taking them. 

Without words, I’m left with physical contact. The counterpoint to all those blows I’ve laid upon you, resting in the palm of a gently placed hand. The top of your head, against your side, pulling you close because then, at least, I can protect you from the things ahead, even if I didn’t manage those behind. I fool myself into omnipotence, because you sell the illusion so very, very well.

It should be good that I’m occasionally reminded of that, but somehow that doesn’t make it an easy cross to bear.